Over 2000 Years and Counting
by Army of Flying Turtles
Summary: Just a story on England's growth as a person, of his struggles to overcome adversity and his fight against his own demons. All of this wouldn't be possible without his family by his side as they all learn to forgive and appreciate the love and camaraderie between them. A lot of serious stories but also humour, historical pieces and yaoi.
1. Pride

Scotland was confused.

He was a man and a nation who was known for grabbing what he wanted with both hands and standing up for what he believed was right. He sincerely believed that during his existence he did his utter best to always remain true to himself, to put his people first and live with dignity. So as he rested on his bed in the house he shared with his brothers, he was thoroughly confused. He liked to think that he hated England. However there was a loud, incessant voice in his head telling him otherwise. Telling him that if he hated him so much, he wouldn't willingly come to stay at his house for more or less half the year.

He could remember that he never always used to hold such dislike for his youngest brother. He used to _adore _him. He remembered, over two-thousand years ago, when his mother Britannia came home one day with two tiny, angel eyed children in tow. He could remember how his mother's face glowed as bright as the halo of golden hair upon her head at the fact she now had a larger family...

_"CALEDONIA! (1) HIBERNIA! (2) Come look!"_

_Scotland, then a dirty faced boy who looked about ten and Ireland, who looked about seven or eight swung their heads round at the sound of their mother's sweet, excited voice. They saw her coming up the dirt path exactly as she had looked in the morning. Her thick, plain smock or chemise-like dress was under a more decorative, embroidered tunic. It was sinched in at the waist with a leather belt and dainty leather shoes protected her feet. Her hair was in her customary complex frontal braid and rest of the wheat coloured mane flowed both behind and around her. She was grinning from ear to ear but she was not alone. She was carrying two lumps._

_Scotland and Ireland couldn't see the lumps clearly from a distance and were looking at each other with confused expressions. They decided to greet her because, after all, the lumps couldn't have been anything bad since their mother was so happy._

_When they got to her they stopped abruptly and their eyes widened in surprise- she had children. In her arms where two, identical little children of no more than three or four years of age. The children looked down curiously at the older boys, then up to their mother and then down again as if trying to gauge their reactions. Their mother sat down on a patch of grass and set both children down on her lap. One on each thigh. _

_"Màthair (3), who are they?" Scotland asked as he crouched down with Ireland to get a better look at the toddlers. _

_The two boys didn't seem to be human children. Human looking, most definitely. Completely human however? Most definitely not. They were like them. They were their land, their people- they were nations. Two, identical little nations. One with dark, thick, wavy hair and the other with finer, straighter hair that was blonde albeit much, much darker than their mother's own hair. Both had large eyebrows and clear emerald eyes that shined with innocence. The eyebrows and the eye colour were eerily familiar..._

_"Caledonia, Hibernia ...meet your brothers. Your youngest brothers Cambria (4) and Albion (5), if I die they will watch over the Southern and Western-most areas of my lands. I want you to love them, to love them very much and watch over them just like you have been doing with each other. Do you understand me?"_

_The two boys nodded dumbly, completely entranced by their new siblings._

_"Mam (6)...Can I hold one? I want to hold them. Please?" Ireland looked at his mother with the same look she saw in Scotland's eyes not very long ago. The very same look Scotland had now. She knew her sons felt a bond, felt similar blood flowing through their veins and their hearts called for one another. _

_Carefully, the nymph-like woman handed the nation that, in the distant future, would be known as Wales over to her second oldest child. The child stiffened at first but was soon giggling and nuzzling Ireland's face whilst Ireland got over his initial awkwardness and cooed over him. _

_"Caledonia, don't you want to hold Albion for a while and then you can swap with Hibernia? Look he wants to be held by you already!"_

_Indeed, the tiny child was red in the face and trying to squirm his way to Scotland. The older boy visibly stiffened. He didn't really know much about kids. Sure he looked after Ireland but this child was completely different to him. What if the child didn't like him after he picked him up? What if he hurt him? Britannia looked at her son lovingly, speaking with conviction._

_"Son, don't worry. Trust me. Go on, pick him up."_

_Tentatively, Scotland took the boy in his arm. He could feel tiny knees dig into his chest gently as he found himself face-to-face with the child. He wrapped an arm around the toddlers back, securing the child to him. They regarded each other silently. Staring at each other with what could only be described as a soulful analysis. If the eyes were a window to the soul, then this child's soul was complex, powerful but so undeniably brilliant and tender. Scotland wondered what the child saw in him. The older boy was broken out of his reverie when two, pudgy hands were lifted, only to be replaced on his own face. He allowed the baby to caress his cheeks, to feel the contours of his face and feel his fiery red hair. He himself was fascinated by the tiny creature. The child suddenly smiled and any wariness in his eyes was replaced by innocent affection, he then leaned over in Scotland's arms to kiss him on the nose, giggling sweetly. A loud chorus of 'AAAWWW!' erupted from his family, even little Wales joined in. Scotland's face reddened in slight embarrassment but he couldn't help but smile widely. _

_The family remained together and enjoyed each others' company until Rome's distinct bellowing was heard in the distance, calling Britannia for a meeting. _

He would always look back on that day and wondered sometimes why fate had decided to pit the brothers against each other. No matter what happened however, Scotland sometimes saw that tiny child when he looked at England. He wanted so desperately to uphold his mother's wishes, to love the boy completely, but it was so hard to do so when he and his brother were trying to rip each other apart with their bare hands and teeth at the best of times.

But at other times, when all was said and done, Scotland was absolutely smitten with England and craved for the days that once were despite how much he hated the feelings. It made everything jut that little bit more complex and it was absolutely unnecessary. The loud voice in his head was only growing stronger and louder with time.

But which one of them would dare let go of their pride first?

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><p><strong>Hey everyone!<strong>

**Really wanted to write about the British Isles because they need more love and I am from England! Yup, I live in the capital and I have to say that, despite our problems, this little archipelago is where my heart is. Love my country so much :)**

**Hope you enjoyed this first chapter and reviews, comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome! Flamers are most definitely not welcome!**

**Translations/meanings:**

**Caledonia- from my research, this is the oldest recorded official name of Scotland given by the Romans.**

**Hibernia- oldest official name of Ireland as far as I'm aware! Again given by the Romans.**

**Màthair- Scottish Gaelic for 'mother'**

**Cambria- As far as I know it is the oldest official name for Wales from the Romans.**

**Albion- Oldest name for England. First used to describe the British Isles as a whole but then was used to refer to England in particular.**

**Mam- Irish Gaelic for 'mum'**


	2. A Question Of Forgiveness

**Thank you to every one who has reviews, made this a favourite or read this so far!  
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**I think a few people have guessed this already, but this it a fic on the day-to-day lives of the British Isles brothers. So though it may contain historical notes and maybe the odd historical fic or two, this is mainly about their day-to-day interactions and their own personal views as I see it in my head canon!  
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**Hope you enjoy this chapter and I don't own anything except for my OCs and plot!**

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><p>Ireland had <em>finally <em>reached England's house.

After a five hour journey in the freezing December cold he was very glad to be at his destination. He wasn't particularly happy to be visiting his younger brother but it couldn't be helped- he was sent on official business after all. Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom and its Commonwealth was going to visit his country in May the following year and himself and his brother had a few more things to go over. He opened the door using the key he had been given a long time ago (and that he never had the heart to throw away) and stepped inside the warm house. He shrugged off his coat, hat, scarf and gloves all the while calling out to the other nation.

"Oi Art'ur! You dere?"

Ireland's musically accented voice resonated powerfully throughout the old mansion he once shared with his brothers. He was only met with silence. Cocking a strawberry blonde eyebrow, he called out to his brother a second time.

"Art'ur ye feckin' twat! Answer me!"

Still nothing. _'Strange' _he thought. He found it strange that Arthur wouldn't answer him because he had promised that he would still be in the house when he came to visit. Arthur also almost always responded when he called for him. He knew it was only himself and Arthur in the house. Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales had gone out to run some errands. Stocking up on supplies for the winter or so he was told. Ireland was starting to get slightly agitated. Though the relationship between himself and England had improved somewhat over the years, the man never liked to be in the UK for very long- especially not in his younger brother's house.

Ireland decided that instead of standing around wasting time he should set off to hunt his brother down. He wasn't very sure where to start and the mansion was quite large however he knew that the sooner he started the better. Nations tended to be quite sensitive to each other. It was how they knew that someone was 'like them'. Hardly aging, never ill except for the odd cold, very distinct features (such as eye colour. Though America and Norway's eyes were blue, it did not mean that anyone in the world had their _shades _of blue and the same applied for all nations) and so on. So it wasn't long before Ireland sensed another nation in the house and was drawn to the sensation. He let _'the pull' _as he called it, drag him throughout the house until he came to stop at the living room. Upon closer inspection, he saw that England was fast asleep on the sofa, curled up and looking rather sweet and innocent.

Ireland approached the sofa quietly and hesitantly. He rubbed his arm awkwardly when he got to the sleeping man, unsure of what to do. Part of him really wanted to kick what this part deemed to be a 'worthless bastard' awake and then give him a right hiding for being asleep when he arrived. However another part of him, a part he never really showed too often anymore, was aching to just let the young one sleep. He felt a tender smile pulling at his face. England was really different when he slept. He looked really peaceful.

Ireland crouched down in front of him, just like he did when he first met both him and Wales so many years ago whilst taking slight notice of all the documents that littered the table and floor. When he was eye-to-eye with his snoozing brother he had to suppress a quiet gasp. The man looked exhausted even though he was asleep. Dark, heavy bags framed his eyes, his hair was tousled wildly and his skin was gaunt despite the unhealthy flush to his cheeks. Ireland knew that the UK was having problems, (hell he himself had a cold for many-a month and still had one), but he didn't realize that his brother was running himself into the ground trying to stay on top of it all. It really didn't help that his two bosses were absolute eejits. **_(1)_** He tried to resist the urge to reach out to his younger brother and failed miserably. He stroked the man's cheek with the back of his hands, noticing that the skin was quite clammy and very hot. He began to murmur.

"Yer dense prat. Whaen ye ever gonna learn ter pack it in? Christ waaat am Oi doin'?"

He didn't have anytime to answer his own question. England started to whimper out in what sounded like pain or a nightmare. Ireland's eyes widened. England never whimpered anymore. He hadn't heard the man whimper since he was a small babe. The man was also shaking as if cold despite the fever he had. His eyes opened sluggishly and then fluttered periodically, trying to remove excess moisture. His vision was hazy but he couldn't mistake that mop of strawberry blond curls for anyone else.

As soon as England was awake Ireland froze. His face became bright red, completely ashamed that he was caught in such a position. Ireland was independent. He didn't need his brothers, especially not England, yet here he was stroking his brother's face. He made to get up and leave but England grabbed his sleeve, sobbing. The younger man began to speak, England's voice barely coming out as a whisper, but Ireland heard.

"P-P-Patrick...s-sorry...so s-sorry..." _**(2)**_

"Fer whaat?"

"Everything...everyt-thing...for not b-being awake...for hurt-ting y-you..."

"Well yer shud 'av tart av dat before shouldn't 'av yer? Den yer wouldn't 'av ter apologize. Yer seem ter forget dat sum av de things you've done are almost unforgivable!"

"I know, I know! Let me make it up-p to you. G-g-give me another chance. l-love you, you're one of the only t-thing-gs I h-have in this world-d...I don't want to loose you!...P-p-please stay, d-don't leave me...just d-don't leave. You have your ind-dependence, and you c-can k-k-keep it, but just because your not in the Union d-doesn't mean your not my brother anymore. F-forg-give me, please."

England was panting and slowly, but surely, he began stepping in and out of consciousness and his grip was getting weaker and weaker.

"Feck off."

Ireland's roughly shrugged his younger brother off him and stormed out to get some air, brows furrowed deeply and anger contorted his pretty face. Damn everything. He sat down on the step outside the front door in the cold. His breath came out in smokey puffs, he pulled the long sleeves of his green turtleneck over his hands and he wrapped his arms around himself. He lowered his head to rest them his knees only to lift it back up where he felt something pulling on his hair. A soft, motherly voice spoke to him.

"Eire, you can't carry on like this..." **_(3)_**

Ireland came face to face with one of his closest friends, a stunning little fairy named Melva. She was personally given to him by his mother, just like how England inherited the flying mint bunny. Though she wasn't his familiar, with the bond they shared she might as well have been. Her wings were just like those of a clear-winged butterfly- and just as beautiful. They shined in the little bit of light that streamed outside from the windows of the house. She was clad in a warm grass green dress with Celtic designs sewn into the fabric and a fur lined coat. Though Ireland really did love her, he honestly didn't want a lecture about what he could and couldn't do.

"Oi can an' Oi 'ill. De feckin' runt needs ter learn dat naw acshun goes unpunished. Dat yer reap waaat yer sow. He feckin' deserves dis after everythin' 'e's done ter me!"

To the crueler part of Ireland, England's suffering was fabulous entertainment. His brother looked pitiful sobbing. To this part, England was pathetic and was getting what he deserved. His people died and suffered because of his brother and he had to feel and live through their suffering. Why shouldn't he hate him?

He friend looked at him with utter disdain. Chrystal coloured wings were fluttering in agitation.

"I know how you feel. Do you think I didn't watch as the people died in their thousands? That they starved and fought and suffered? But you _know_ how hard England himself tried to stop his bosses from running you into the ground because he _loves _you.-"

"But...but 'ow can ye defend 'im. If that langer loved me so much yer man wouldn't 'av let me an' me people, even de laddies, starve an' die! Yer man wouldn't 'av shut de dure in our faces! They were starvin' an' yer man didn't chucker a-" _**(4)**_

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Ireland stopped his hate fueled rant, completely stupefied. The tiny creature had her fists clenched and her expression darkened. Ireland then noticed that she began to shed tiny tears of crystal sorrow and her minute hands came up to rub at her eyes in a desperate attempt to see clearly and stay in control over her emotions.

"It's none of your faults that you have to bend to the whims of humans. That God made you all like this and bound you to laws he doesn't even tell you of. I would do anything to help all of you. Yes England was a bastard and can _still _be a right bastard sometimes, but he tries his best to be an honorable one these days. You concentrate _so much _on how England _used _to be that you completely forget that he has changed himself! He doesn't want to be a cold, selfish oppressor. He can now see that, in the end, power and glory do not bring happiness. Especially when it's at the cost of his friends and family."

Ireland let this sink in for a while, slowly processing his friends opinion.

"You fought for religion as well as freedom, yet you can't even _try _to forgive a man who would do _anything_ to take back what he and his people have done. Who would do anything for you to love him again. He _knows _he was wrong. If you want to blame someone, blame the man he _used _to be! If you can't try to forgive, if your too _prideful _to forgive, what right do you have to ask the Father for forgiveness? His boss, his Queen has been _invited _to your country. Times are changing and people are slowly learning to forgive but you have to lead the way! You fucking hypocrite, _I'm sick to death of it_!"

Ireland was struck speechless. Melva had never spoken to him in that manner before. It struck a chord in him because it reminded him of his mother's anger at Rome and at himself and Scotland for leaving little England and Wales at Rome's mercy. He held out his hand and let the creature sit in his palm, she wrapped her arms around his thumb sobbing for all she was worth.

Was he really being a hypocrite?

That quieter, gentler part of him was screaming that he was. He suddenly realized that all of the nations were hypocritical in the sense that they ask for forgiveness yet are so unwilling to forgive. Even when it wasn't they _themselves _that did a lot of the things their bosses and people did. Like Israel, Poland and if fact almost the whole world used to hate Germany and Prussia completely for the holocaust and for the Second World War, but Germany and Prussia _themselves_ never did any of that. Yes they fought in the war but did they really have another choice? In fact, they organized many risky operations for some of the Jews and other so called 'undesirables' to escape. Hitler committing suicide? No, the nations learnt many years later that both Germanic brothers' hate and pain consumed them both so completely that they finally snapped and got rid of the vile man. Ireland realized that it made sense to hate the people responsible, not those they _assumed _were responsible.

When he thought about it, when had he become so bitter? Sure some things that happened between himself and his brother were verging on unforgivable. However as a Catholic he understood that if God can forgive so many things, then why was he so great that he couldn't at least _try _to forgive his own brother for things in the past when he was trying so hard to make amends, when he was feeling great remorse, when he acknowledged his mistakes and had been trying to correct them and learn from them? He too had made mistakes and had always asked for forgiveness. If he couldn't at least _try _to forgive then he wasn't worthy of forgiveness himself. After all since when was he so pure and holy? England didn't want to take his independence from him, he only wanted his brother back. Didn't Ireland want exactly the same thing? He heaved a sigh.

"Fine. I'll go back an' talk ter 'im."

His friends mouth dropped in shock but soon changed into the sweetest grin he had ever seen on her face. She rubbed the tears from her eyes and hugged his thumb.

"Thank you Eire. _Thank you. _I know you won't regret it, I just know you won't! Britannia would be so proud, bless her beautiful soul! I'll be around with England's Flying Mint Bunny and his fairies so don't worry."

With a quick nod from Ireland the fairy flew away and Ireland re-entered the house. He honestly didn't know if he would be able to fix his relationship with his brother. What if time couldn't heal the wounds? What if the hate he felt was too strong? What if his brother turned on him again?

He could already hear his brother weeping from the other side of the corridor and for once it did arouse pity in him. When he got to the living room door, he sneaked a peak and saw his brother curled up on the sofa crying into his arm and, for the first time in a _long _time, he felt a pang of guilt. They were both as bad as each other and Melva was right- it desperately needed to stop or one day it might be too late. They could either try to start again now or end up killing each other in the long run. He entered the room and spoke as he approached the sofa.

"...Stop stressin' will yer? ...Cum 'ere, lift yerself up for a moment..."

England's head snapped up at the sound of his brother's voice (though by the grimace on his face, moving so quickly must have been uncomfortable to say the least). He did as he was told and, to his utter astonishment, Ireland sat down on the edge of the sofa and placed his head in the older man's lap. He began to run his fingers through the damp, matted hair and spoke gently.

"This doesn't mean Ah've forgiven yer for everythin' jest yet but Oi'm willin' ter try. Jest like some of ma people Oi'm willin' ta move on. Oi'm willin' ter gie dis a go despite everythin' because believe it or not..."

Ireland stopped abruptly, heaving a deep sigh when he had collected his thoughts together.

"...Believe it or not Oi love yer too. Ever since Oi laid eyes on ye Oi always 'ave. Yer me precious wee brah'der. Oi don't want ter live de kip av me long, long life 'atin' yer so much. 'Ow can Oi dare ter ask de Father for forgiveness for everythin' Oi 'av done whaen Oi canny even forgive me own brah'der whaen he so sincerely asks for it? Whaen Oi push 'im away?"

Again, England began to sob quietly. He buried his head in the older man's flat stomach and held onto him as tightly as he could. His head was spinning not only because of his illness and his exhaustion, but also because of his brother's words. Because his brother still loved him. He honestly didn't deserve people like Ireland. After all he had done to his brother and his people, Ireland was still willing to give him a chance.

"Oi'm willin' ter start afresh but yer canny rush me and yer 'av ter prove yerself ter me. _Prove ter me you've changed_. Show me loyalty an' respect an' yer 'ill 'av mine."

Ireland paused for a while to think but soon started again.

"Yer 'urt me so badly in de past. It 'ill be 'ard ter rebuild our relationship but Oi really want ter_ try _cos Oi miss yer an' de others. 'Tis gonna be 'ard, but Oi tink we'll make it. Nigh cum on, stop yer sobbin' cos for Christ's sake yer used ter be de British Empire an' a pirate at dat! Cum 'ere..."

With that Ireland gathered his little brother in his arms, hugging him tightly and flushing brightly when England peppered little kisses on his face, tugged gently at his curls and caressing his cheeks just like he used to do when he was young. Both men's green eyes were alight with joy, determination and relief. It occurred to Ireland that he could finally see what Melva was talking about. That the sobbing man in his arms, the man in front of him _now_ was the brother he once knew. The gentle, precious little boy that used to play in his forests looking every bit as sweet as the fairies that surrounded them. Not the tyrant he became so many years ago. It made him tear up slightly. Ireland's breath hitched slightly when England kissed his lips gently and the older man wasn't sure if it was supposed to be an accident or not. However from the smile on England's face it might not have been but then again he was exhausted and ill out of hid mind.

"...Easy nigh lad...easy..."

Before long both men fell asleep on the sofa but not before Ireland's ears perked up at the joyous sigh and chuckle his brother released and the soft words he spoke. Four simple words that seemed to encompass the moment.

"Thank you...my brother."

Ireland shook his head, maybe he was getting too old and sentimental. Maybe they were _both_ getting too old and sentimental. Ireland shook his head, smiling genuinely.

"Yer 'ave always been such a flamin' prat..."

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><p>About an hour later, the sound of three disgruntled and tired men carrying enough food to feed the British armed forces in its entirety stumbled through the door of the old mansion. A particularly bristled Welshman began rebuking a smug Scotsman whilst a Northern Irishman merely watched with amused indifference.<p>

"I'm never letting you fucking drive ever again."

"Oh come on! It wasnae that bad! We're alrigh' arenae we? We got whit we needed huvnae we? Therefair thes was a successful trip!"

"_Successful trip my fucking arse_! How _hard_ is it to find a damn _Tesco_! You should pretty much know where it is by now but you _still_ seem to get lost anyways! And_ all _of this with a fucking cigarette in your mouth and a bottle of whiskey in your hand!"

A deep, loud and intimidating chuckle permeated the hallway when Wales had finished. Scotland's emerald coloured eyes darkened.

"Aye. But ye cannae expect me tae goo withoout mah necessities ye ken. But if Aam such a bad driver wa didne ye tak' th' wheel?"

"But just because whiskey means _water of life _doesn't mean you need it all the flaming time! And I would've taken the wheel but you threatened to kill me!"

Though he was usually quite a quiet individual, North decided to stop the conversation before either Wales or Scotland took it too far. And by too far he meant that either they would be having a funeral in the morning, or the house was in great jeopardy. Scotland already looked like he wanted to snap Wales in two!

"Alasdair, Cariad...Quieten down 'ill yer? Mind dat Oirlan' an' Englan' are supposed ter be...discussin'...somethin'..." **_(5)_**

Even whilst he reminded his brother's of Ireland's presence in the house, their faces paled as all three of them came to a startling and frightening realization. Ireland was indeed in the house. His coat was there and everything yet they couldn't see hide or hair of neither him nor their other brother. It was way too quiet.

Crap.

They dropped their bags and began rushing through the house. What if Ireland had done something to England? They felt a horrible, twisting feeling in their stomachs and they were all silently hoping that they were wrong.

"ENGLAIN! IRELAIN! Whaur ur yer both!"

They split up instinctively, searching all parts of the lower floor. It was only when a soft 'Oi' from Wales was heard, that the other two stopped their frantic search. Scotland and North noticed that Wales looked shell shocked and that he rubbed his eyes just to prove to himself that he wasn't imagining things but after a few seconds a huge, joyous chuckled burst forth from his throat. When Scotland and North saw the scene in the living room, their faces contorted into a mixture of disbelief, happiness and, in Scotland's case, jealousy.

Ireland still had his arms wrapped tightly around a sleeping England but whilst the latter was still asleep like the dead, Ireland was glaring sluggishly at the trio who were stood by the doorway. He spoke up, voice still husky with sleep whilst running a hand through his hair.

"None av yer bastards 'av ever learnt de meanin' av 'quiet' 'av yer? Wake de wee wan up an' dare'll be 'ell ter pay."

All three pairs of eyes widened. It had been a very long time since they had seen Ireland _that _protective of England. But they heeded his warning; the Irishman's temper was like a raging inferno when provoked and there was no way to escape it without burning alive. Wales, always the inquisitive one, decided to ask the question on everyone's minds.

"So, brawd, what's brought this on all of a sudden?"

All three brothers waited eagerly for the answer because they knew this would probably be the only time Ireland would elaborate on the subject. The man sighed for what seemed like the millionth time today. He ran a dainty hand through his mop of curls once again and stared at the man in his lap.

"It's either try to forgive or perish 'atin' each other forever. We canny...go on loike dat.-"

He looked to his brother momentarily.

"None av us can."

He returned to staring at England, holding him closer and shushing him gently when the man began to feel the changes in the atmosphere. He settled down quickly and Ireland continued. He looked towards his brothers and spoke with grim determination.

"Oi'm not sayin' it's gonna be easy. It's gonna be a long, 'ard road from nigh but 'tis better ter try an' fail or succeed wi' dignity than risk never tryin' at al' in shame..."

Ireland's powerful and determined tone of voice morphed into something softer, turning to face his younger brother. He looked at his brother lovingly without realization.

"Naw matter waaat...Oi love 'im, al' av yer, me country an' me people more than anythin' in dis whole warrld. Yer are al' Ah've got. Family is a precious tin'. Yer canny choose it and is so easy ta loose. Forgiveness an' gratefulness are divine things but are so 'ard ter gain. Yer can choose dem. Englan' an' Oi 'av made our choice."

Wales, North and Scotland seemed please with the response. However when England began to shuffle in his sleep again, North noted that Ireland seemed to be getting slightly edgy about their prolonged presence disrupting the man's sleep.

"Well we're really 'appy ter 'av yer back Patreck. Oi'm guessin' yer stayin' for de noight so we'll git yer room ready. We'll be sortin' oyt de shoppin' in de kitchen first if yer nade us though."

With that, Wales and North left the room but Scotland remained and directed an acidic glare at his younger brother. Ireland merely looked him straight in the eye, smirking lazily and eyes glinting with an uncharacteristic yet dangerous sadism.

"Naw nade ter git jealous Scottie. Oi'm not after de wee rossie..._yet_."

Scotland flushed in indignation. The bright colour highlighted his pale skin. He didn't want his younger brother to mock him so he lied through his clenched teeth.

"Who's says I'm after th' divit? Aam jist sayin' yoo'll learn nae tae tooch what's feckin' mine."

Ireland let out a musical yet mocking laugh.

"'Tis really unbecomin', this jealousy, 'specially in a paddy av yisser age, who 'as contradicted 'imself in de same sentence _an'_ over someone yer man canny even claim as 'is! Yer know as well as Oi dat Art'ur 'as made sure 'e's never belonged ter anyone except 'is people an' country!"

Ireland could see the rage building up behind his brother's envy coloured eyes. Funny how the colour suited the emotion. It was also funny how Ireland honestly didn't care how angry Scotland was getting. To him it was always quite amusing to rile his older brother up so he carried on.

"Yer forget dat Englan' 'as a few...admirers oyt dare loike France, perhaps America an' dare Oi say Wales or Nort' and some of his old colonies. 'Ow long 'ill yer be able ter keep dis 'leash' yer say yer 'av on 'im?"

Scotland almost couldn't take anymore of Ireland's words because he knew, as much as he tried so hard to deny it, that Ireland was right. He was itching to storm out of the room to look for something to dash at a wall but his pride kept him from moving. He fists were clenched and his teeth were gritted so fiercely that they were becoming numb. Ireland suddenly became serious. He looked positively offended.

"_Yer a complete twat_. Oi _only jist _allowed meself ter take 'im back as me brah'der yet yer tink Oi'm gonna destroy dat by takin' 'im as a _lover_? 'Ow _dense _can yer be!"

Scotland's widened in realization at the truth in his brother's words and he looked down at the floor, for once feeling quite small despite his intimidating height. He was, after all, the tallest of all the British Isles brothers.

"An' another thin'. Yer can say dat 'e's yers as much as yer loike but Oi'm tellin' yer roit nigh. _If Oi ever want 'im, Oi'll take 'im an' nothin', not even ye, 'ill stop me_."

Scotland's eyes snapped right back up to his brother's. He was being taunted and challenged and the embarrassment he felt was slowly ebbing away and instead he was becoming more livid by the second. Ireland could feel his older brother seething with rage as well as see it. He decided to calm him down. He did value his life after all.

"But it won't be nigh. Just mind if 'e's meant ter be yers, yer man 'ill. Gran' so? Why al' dis jealousy an' bitterness? Why canny yer jist admit yer love 'im whaen 'tis so obvious dat yer alwus 'av?"

Scotland pondered this. He _was _jumping to conclusions about Ireland's intentions, he could admit that. But he was still reluctant to admit just how much he wanted England, as wrong as it might be. Even though he was so reluctant, he was still very selfish. Even if he couldn't have England, he didn't want Ireland or anyone else to have him. It annoyed him that his brothers, France, America and many other countries had always been..._over-affectionate_ with England throughout history as well as rough or hateful or loving. He also knew that England definitely wasn't a virgin (but then again neither was he) and he knew that England had a..._variety _of bed partners over the years including himself and the rest of their brothers. Despite this, the thought of England with anyone else, especially Ireland or any of his other brothers felt like a kick in the teeth...

"Where's yisser pride gone? Did ye really believe dat we didn't notice? We're yisser brah'ders. Yer canny 'ide things loike dat from me or de others forever yer nu."

Scotland looked down at his heavy boots, face flushed for a completely different reason now. He was quite embarrassed. Were his feelings really that obvious? There was no use hiding them at this stage was there? It was astounding. Ireland sounded so wise sometimes yet he was younger than Scotland.

"Jist mind, de more yer keep yisser feelings bottled up de more loikly it iz dat you'll do somethin' you'll really regret. If yer want 'im, tell 'im before someone else takes 'im."

Scotland released a deep, piteous sigh and he looked up at his brother in ernest.

"Aye, Ah kin ye auld bastard. Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye right? I'll tak' oan board whit ye jist said jist as lang as ye min' whit Ah said. _He's mine_. Ah willnae lit yoo or any other bampot have 'im. But if yer keep on at me aboyt me feelings den Oi might 'av ter gie ye a skelpit lug!"_** (6)**_

"If oi'm an auld langer den waaat does dat make yer! An' yer wouldn't dare scrap wi' me, Ah've got de luk av de Oirish on me feckin side!" _**(7)**_

Both men burst out laughing. When their laughter died down, Scotland coughed and became serious again. His cheeks still had a faint rose hue that was actually quite becoming on him. He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly whilst shoving the other into his grey trouser pocket, not quite sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"Is it...really that obvioos? Dae ye think Englain knows? Ah...Ah dornt e'en ken hoo tae...haw tae go aboout it all...It's th' first time 'at I've ever felt like thes...that mah heart beats sae hard..."

Ireland could see how much his brother was struggling with his feelings. He didn't really know how to answer the older man's second question and he wasn't sure how Scotland should go about confessing either. Ireland also felt quite guilty for the second or third time that day. He he was trying to help his oldest brother on his love issues (as infantile as it sounded) yet his _brother's _love interest was lying happily in _his_ lap, curled around _him_ like an octopus who was missing a few legs and, to top it all off, also kissed _him_ earlier that afternoon. He would be jealous and angry too if he was in Scotland's situation- hell anyone would!- and he didn't even know about the kiss! He'd try and help his brother, sure, but he would feel quite gutted if things didn't turn out for him. When Scotland loved, it was with all his heart. And Scotland had finally fallen. Hard.

"Well, yes, 'tiz quite obvious..."

At that, Scotland grimaced and Ireland grimaced with him but carried on regardless.

"Yer don't notice it but...but every time Englan' says yer 'ate 'im or that yer man 'ates you...you luk really vexed. But whaen Englan' shows yer dat he cares, yisser eyes light up an' yer calmer. Oi don't tink Englan' knows jist yet but...but Oi tink waaat yer 'av ter do is jist be 'onest with 'im..."

Scotland smiled gently, it did make sense after all. He was just going to have to find the right time to tell England and just hope and pray for the best. England began to fidget in his sleep, bringing both men's attention to his sleeping form. Ireland turned his bristled gaze to his older brother.

"Oi 'ope yer can remember me warnin' from earlier..."

He let the threat trail off hoping that it would be sufficient enough for the other Celtic country to understand the message. Scotland began to chuckle and snicker.

"Alrecht, alrecht keep yer knickers oan ye feckin' ned! I'll leeve but...thanks fur th' gab. It was guid. Ah never even kent that'a pure steamin eejit sooch as yerself coods be sae wise!" **_(8)_**

Scotland left the room after he flipped his brother the bird, laughing all the way. Ireland simply called out after him, laughing as well.

"Yer a feckin' tosser an' always 'ill be! "

After that confrontation, England stopped shuffling restlessly and Ireland relaxed his muscles. After a little while he feel asleep once again wondering just what he had gotten himself into this time. But one other thought still stayed with him.

That England better have kept his old room in good condition or there would be hell to pay!

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><p><strong>This is not a bash at Ireland. I love Irish people and a lot of my friends are Irish but this is partly my opinion and the opinion of others. It's kind of a bash at a certain mindset. Every country has done terrible things, that's a given. But I believe that although we need to remember our past mistakes as people and learn from them, we need to be able to forgive as much as we need to ask for forgiveness. The thing with us British and Irish people is that we hold grudges for things <em>we <em>personally didn't experience. **

**For example, I'm half Colombian and half Spanish but born in England. I can't go around hating Spanish people because they went around conquering Colombia, I can't go around hating the English because they sunk the Armada and I can't go around hating the French because of a petty historical rivalry.  
><strong>

**So my point is, in the world over, how can you dislike someone or a group of people based on something that happened way back before you were even born? That kind of attitude never gets anyone anywhere. We need to start learning for our mistakes, and move _forward. _**

**Now that that's over and done with...**

**Translations and Info:**

**(1)- Eejit = Irish/Scottish for 'idiot'**

**(2)- Patrick = This is like the national name of Ireland and the name of the country's patron saint. The Irish variant is 'Paddy' which I might use as a nickname for Ireland. The name means 'noble'. I also imagine that Ireland would have a double-barreled surname but wouldn't use 'Kirkland'. **

**(3)- Eire = Irish Gaelic for 'Ireland'**

**(4)- In Ireland, the Great Famine was a period of mass starvation, disease and emigration between 1845 and 1852. About 1 million people died. England did not help matters at all. They increased food exports from Ireland despite the fact that they were starving and only provided them with maize and cornmeal which was not prepared and, basically, impossible to eat.**

**(5)- The name 'Alasdair' is a traditional Scottish name meaning 'Defender of the People'**

**The name 'Cariad' is an old (most likely 13th century) name meaning 'love' or 'darling' and was used as a term of endearment too.**

**These are the names I have picked for Scotland and Wales respectively because I thought it suited them and had a nice ring with the surname Kirkland.**

**(6)- What Scotland is saying is, "Yes, I get it you old bastard. If something is for you , it won't go past you right? I'll take on board what you said and long as you take on board what I said. He's mine. I won't let you or any other idiot/unhinged person have him. But if you keep going on about my feelings than I might just have to give you a slap!"**

**(7) What Ireland is saying is, "If I'm an old bastard what does that make you?" Also 'scrap' = fight.**

**(8) Ned = Non Educated Delinquent**

**Also note: Yeah, Queen Bess visited Ireland in May 2011 and she was the first British monarch in about a century to step foot on Irish land.  
><strong>

**'Gab' = talk**

**'Pure, steaming eejit' = 'completely, drunk idiot'**

**If you need any more explanations please don't hesitate to ask!**

**Reviews, comments etc are more than welcome!**


	3. A Dance In The Rain

OMG! Thank you so much for all your reviews and favourites. I know it must sound cliche but all this support means so much to me! Even if you don't review or favourite I really do hope you enjoy this story!

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><p>Arthur was pretty content for the first time in a while.<p>

Though it hadn't cleared up completely, he felt a lot better since his bout of illness. Things, for once, were quiet in the House of the United Kingdom. Himself and Ireland were finally on speaking terms; in fact, it was only a few days since the man had come over to discuss with him the Queen's visit to Ireland the following year and he had decided to stay over until after the new year. Also Australia, along with New Zealand and Canada, were due to come over in about three days to celebrate both Christmas and New Year with them. Arthur was therefore quite happily reading a book since it was only himself and Wales in the house (Scotland and both the Irelands were out doing some last minute Christmas shopping _again _since they had never anticipated Ireland's stay. The Republic also decided to get some clothes and necessities until he was able to call someone to send him some of his own stuff.) and he had, quite forcibly, demanded that himself and his family have a couple of weeks holiday from political business. God he knew that they all deserved it.

"Brawd, would you like some tea!"

Arthur raised his head up at the melodic voice drifting from the kitchen. He had always envied Wales' voice. Even when he was simply speaking the dark haired man's voice was rich, melodic, hypnotizing and yet so safe and familiar. It was no wonder the man was known as _'The Land of Song'. _What was even better to England though, was Wales' voice when he was yelling about tea.

"Erm...yeah actually. A good cuppa would be very nice. Thank you Cari!~"

"It's no problem boyo!~"

If there was one person he wouldn't mind spending a year chained to, it would have to be Wales hands down. The man was always so easy going but not in an annoying fashion. He was highly responsible, loving and always eager to please, to learn, to laugh and help people. Physically, he was almost an exact carbon copy of England. They looked so much alike that almost everyone would give them a double-take just to make sure that they weren't seeing double. Except that every time they did look, they always realised that they pretty much were. It didn't help that if the two of them went out, Wales would insist on linking his arm with his twin's tightly resulting in them getting the few odd stares and 'awww's'. Really, the only physical difference between them was their hair colour. England had a blinding wheat-coloured head of hair and Wales had thick, dark locks which would shine almost white and burnt umber in the right light respectively.

Personality wise, however, was a completely different matter. England was quite a stiff individual who did worry what people thought of him, Wales was carefree and had the mildest temperament amongst the whole British Isles family and even much of their extended family across the globe. Though England and Wales were quite different people, they complemented each other perfectly and, as twins, were very much in sync with each other. It wasn't rare for one to finish off the others' sentence or simply look at the other and know _exactly _what's on their mind. It was a scary thing to many other nations.

England heard footsteps coming towards him and was pleasantly surprised to see that not only did his brother bring him tea but he also brought him something to eat. Some hot broth with a nice slice of bread and butter. Light, warm and without a doubt perfect. England put his book on the table and smiled up at his brother lovingly.

"You really are..._too_ good to be _my _brother."

England did feel guilty. Even though he annexed Wales in what seems like eons ago, he still felt very guilty. Over the years, he hadn't always shown Wales how much the man meant to him and he did not always appreciate him. He felt that Wales deserved better, so much _better _than him. Wales knew how England felt, and it always amazed him that England still felt that way after he had told him repeatedly that he was proud to be his brother and, despite the past, he would still always love him.

"Now you know I don't like you talking in that way. Let me get my own food and we can eat it together alright? It's just that we haven't been able to do that in a really long time...Is that OK?"

Wales' ears and cheeks were a bright pink and England simply gave him a look that said, 'You git, of course it's alright!' With that Wales left only to return a few minutes later with his own food and they both ate together in peace. They discussed various things from what they wanted to do in their weeks off to what needed to be done before Christmas which was in five days. The discussion eventually led to the awaited arrival of England's children in three days.

"Ahh I can't wait to see them all!~ It's been quite a while since I've seen them!"

England nodded his head in agreement, a soft smile played on his lips.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to their visit too and I know that they can't wait to come over. Bloody shame they all live so far away."

It was a known fact that it took around six hours to get from Canada's capital of Ottawa to London (more or less) but for the Oceania pair it wasn't that easy. The flight from either New Zealand or Australia often took more than twenty hours and was always very tiring. He mused that it could be worse however; planes could never have been invented and the only efficient transportation would have been ships which would have taken months if not years!

"Yeah, but it will always be worth it when they finally get here- it always is! I always love it when Bruce and Noah swamp you and all you can hear is 'MUM! MUMSY!' for days. Then you get shy little Matthew who calls you 'Father' since you started sulking when he only called you 'England'!"

"I will never understand why those two boys _still_ bleeding insist on calling me 'mum'. It's high time they grew out of that! And hey, I did not sulk. A gentleman such as myself does not sulk! I was simply disappointed..."

"Oh come off it Artie! You know as well as I do that you were sulking."

England, who was already beet red, simply 'hmph'-ed, mumbled his signature 'You git' and carried on eating whilst Wales chuckled softly. The dark-haired twin always found it amusing to tease his brother since he would always try to down play his feelings. 'Disappointment' his ass- England was obviously having a strop!

The sound of 'pit-pat'-ing noises stopped his thoughts. He looked toward the large glass windows and saw the rain outside trying to smash its way through the double-glazing. Wales suddenly had a plan. Sure it was cold outside and he was absolutely crazy for even thinking that it was a good idea but life was for living, no?

"Artie..."

England turned his head to Wales once more and paled dramatically at the _look _in his brother's eye. He had learnt to fear this _look _ever since they were born. He knew that this _look _meant that Wales was hitching up a _scheme_. This _scheme _would inevitably lead to _Wales _to do something crazy but force _him _to join in. England was already tense but then he could feel cold sweat running down his face when his twin smile turned into a devilish and viciously wicked smirk. The dark-haired twin's eyes darkened, his voice dropped a couple of octaves.

"Artie...you know because you love me?"

England gulped but his throat felt awfully dry. He silently prayed to the God he often blasphemed about, asking him to get him through the night without humiliation and injury.

"Y-yes...erm I d-do love you Cari...b-but depending on what you want t-to ask me my answer m-might change..."

"Ohh, is that so?~ Then I'm just going to make sure that you...like what I'm going to ask..."

By this point, Wales had completely invaded England's personal space to lisp in his ear and play with the buttons on his shirt. His twin was always trying _seduce_ him like that ever since...well...forever. Occasionally Arthur would give in to him and sometimes he would even try to seduce his own twin as well. Really, all the nations were very..._liberal _when it came to sexual relationships. When you lived for such a long time then any of the nations were fair game. Despite claiming family or kinship, none of the nations saw that as a setback since there were no biological repercussion when it came to sleeping with each other. Often it seemed that none of them were truly related to each other any more anyway because even though many certainly had numerous similarities or stemmed from one particular nation, they had each developed their own people, culture, stereotypes, laws. However with that being said, England did sometimes worry about his relationships with his 'family' since much of their culture _did _stem from particular sources and they _were _more closely related than other nations. He was especially worried about his relationship with Wales; they were flipping twins!

"My love. Dance. With. Me."

Wales grabbed England by the arm and began dragging his twin through the corridor. He smiled happily to himself, it was such a good thing that both he and his brother were wearing boots. He could feel and hear his beloved brother struggling behind him.

"You're a bloody wanker! That wasn't a question, that was a fucking command! And just where do you think you're taking us?"

"You'll see brawd!~"

England tried to guess where his brother was so hell-bent on getting to at a speed which suggested the Devil himself was snapping at his heels. However when he saw the direction of travel his blood ran cold.

"Wait...no, no... are you out of fucking mind! I am NOT going outside, do you hear me Cariad!"

"Nope, not really!~"

Wales opened the front door and ran outside with his brother in tow. The rain had gotten so much stronger and with each sub-zero droplet that fell from the heavens onto their skin, they felt like they were being gently stung a thousand times. Both him and England practically squealed at the arctic downpour that, in next to no time, soaked through their shirts and trousers.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU CARIAD!"

"Haha!~ You love it brawd! Come, dance with me!"

Wales turned around, holding England's right hand in his left, grabbing England's left hand and placing it on his right shoulder. He then completed the traditional dancer's hold by cupping England's waist with his right hand. He was grinning from ear to ear, especially since England wasn't protesting as loudly since he knew there was no way to stop his twin short of divine intervention.

England eventually loosened up, highlighting the vibrant party culture that his people often enjoyed. They danced, sang songs, laughed, ran around and they looked like fools but by this point neither of them cared anymore. The House of the United Kingdom was in a more rural area just outside of London so there were no worries about being seen. Their nearest neighbour was at least a couple of miles away!

England had to admit that at times he felt old. He was already over two thousand years old, he'd_ seen _so much and _been _through so much that he sometimes _struggled _to carry on. It wasn't easy being burdened with such an old mind and soul that did not match his physical age _at all. _It was why he often got annoyed with America. The boy was so _young _compared to him and many other nations and he always felt that this youth would never wax or wane. He was only _just _understanding that being a nation was extremely hard at the best of times and that self interests never, ever take precedence over the country itself and the people.

Wales however, made him feel as young as he physically looked. Nations such as Wales made him remember how it felt to be happy about the small things that everyone would _always _take for granted like the feel of the cool air and rain whipping your face, the sight of the glorious moon and stars illuminating the night sky, the taste of rain in your mouth, the sound of your loved one laughing joyously and the smell of nature all around you. It was liberating.

It seemed like they were out there for hours when in fact they were only outside for about forty-five minutes. They were soaking, they were freezing, they would probably get really ill if they didn't go inside as soon as possible but they were passed caring.

"Brawd! Sing with me!_ Nid wy'n gofyn bywyd moethus!~_" _(I do not ask for a life of luxury)._

"No way you git! My Welsh is rusty!"

"You liar! You were speaking Welsh to me the other day!_ Aur y byd na'i berlau mân!~" (The world of fine gold or pearls)._

"Oh for fuck's sake! _Gofyn rwyf am calon hapus, calon onest, calon lân!~ _There are you happy now?_" (I asked for a happy heart, an honest heart, a pure heart!)._

Wales giggled, his brother sounded so pretty when he wasn't screaming that America was an idiot over thirty times! They both sang the chorus together.

"_Calon lân yn llawn daioni_

_Tecach yw na'r lili dlos_

_Does ond calon lân all ganu_

_Canu'r dydd a chanu'r nos.!~_

_(Pure heart full of goodness_

_Fairer than the beautiful lily_

_Just a pure heart can sing_

_Singing by day and at night playing.!~)"_

Wales embraced England fiercely then, rubbing his cheek against the blonde man's.

"See, I told you that your Welsh was great. What kind of twin would I be if I didn't teach you my language?"

England chuckled but then he realised that Wales felt a bit hot and, when he moved to get a better look at his brother, found the Welshman's face to be unhealthily flushed and his eyes glazed over. England furrowed his large brows and reached up to cup his twins face in his hands so that he could look at him properly. Though human illnesses never lasted more than one or two days (being almost immortal personifications of countries meant barely any human illnesses had any lasting or grave effect on them), they were really annoying.

"You would be a twin who would complain more! We need to go inside now, you're getting sick."

Wales shook his head fiercely, his hands came up to curl around England's lower arms. He leaned forward to brush his lips against his twin's. He pressed on impudently to get the response he desperately needed and moaned when he felt his twin give in. Though this was actually quite normal for them since their birth and every nation knew so, England couldn't help but flush all the same.

"No...brawd...you know I'm fine, I've been through worse. Please...stay out here with me..."

England seemed to be fiercely debating with himself but then he suddenly smirked at his brother and yelled back to him over the sounds of the pelting rain. He couldn't help but humour the man. If Wales insisted that he was alright, who was he to argue?

"Well if you really think that you're OK, then you can sing an ENGLISH song you bastard! _When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food!~_"

"Oh fucking hell! I'm not singing that!"

"Oh yes you fucking are!"

Wales could not stop his thunderous laughter at his twin's song choice. Out of all the wonderful songs that would exhault the hearts of the English like 'There Will Always Be An England' and 'Land Of Hope And Glory', his brother just had to sing the one about roast beef didn't he? He just couldn't help but join in with the ridiculousness of it all!

"_When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food,_

_It ennobl'd our veins and enriched our blood,_

_Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good,_

_Oh! The roast beef of Old England, and Old English roast beef!~"_

The were both so engrossed with the singing and the rain was so loud that they didn't see a car pull up in their driveway or three figures walk towards them. A booming Scottish voice howling bloody murder made their presence known.

"Oi! What th' feck do ya think yer doin' ooutside in this feckin' weather! An' singin' tha' song no less! GIT TH' FECK INSIDE! NOOW!"

Both England and Wales swerved around only to find Scotland and Ireland glaring and screaming at them both and North laughing out loud. It was always nice to hear the quiet boy laugh. England heeded his oldest brothers words however because a black eye was never a great look. England looked toward his twin to make sure that he was on the same page as him but was met with the sight of Wales swaying slightly and staggering when he tried to walk. England decided to throw all caution to the wind and he gently picked Wales up bridal style and ran inside.

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><p>When everyone had gotten dry, changed clothes and put all the new shopping away, Scotland and Ireland began a tirade of lectures whilst both Northern Ireland and Wales were curled around England on the God-blessed sofa.<p>

"Waaat in de name av Jesus bleedin' Chroist were yer doin' outside in dat feckin rain!"

"Ah ken we've never bin th' sanest or th' soberest ay nations but even ye shoods have knoon that was a bad idea! Yoou lot smashed?"

Wales, who was still feeling a bit feverish, lifted his heavy head up sluggishly only to lay it down on England's lap again from exhaustion; a lopsided grin adorned his pretty face as he nuzzled the lap to get comfortable again.

"We was dancing. And no, we're completely sober..."

Scotland and Ireland seemed to fall into a coma of confusion. They heard the two of them singing, but dancing? Northern Ireland spoke up, his light and soothing voice filtered through the room and light bounced off his defined, handsome features from a log fire.

"Don't tell me yer lot 'av forgotten de last time yer danced in de rain. 'Tis magical."

The oldest brothers seemed to understand then. They could never forget any time they themselves had danced or run through the rain. Rain was such an integral part of the United Kingdom and they all had learnt to embrace its magic. Ireland sighed and shook his head. He looked towards the twins and North with loving eyes.

"Oi understan', but oi git so worried. Nigh dat Oi'm more o' less a part av dis family again oi want ter protect yers..."

Ireland lowered his head for a minute, eyes hidden by his strawberry-blonde hair but mouth set in a firm line. He whispered something mostly to himself but Scotland had managed to hear.

"And Oi also want ter dance in the rain with yers...because Oi've fergotten how..."

Scotland looked at his brother in mild surprise. Ireland raised his head and sighed. Scotland found that he was still getting used to Ireland looking at them with such open love but it warmed his heart all the same. However he could see something stirring in Ireland's eyes that was mirrored in his own. Both he and Ireland still found it difficult at times to so casually embrace England like Wales and North were but they wanted to do so very much. They were both getting better at this whole 'brother' business and they found that they personally liked it. It was as Ireland had said before, one step at a time. When Scotland looked to Wales he saw that the man had fallen asleep and North was well on his way to following him; he was snoring lightly on England's shoulder.

"I know you want to protect us but you know I can never find the heart to refuse Cariad a dance in the rain. He loves it so much when I just relax and enjoy myself, when we sing songs and laugh together like we used to do. Shh Seamus, to sleep now my boy..."

North had begun to stir slightly but promptly settled down at the sound of England's voice and the feel of England's hands running through his thick, cropped strawberry-blonde hair.

"'Tis alwus been loike dat. Poor Cariad 'as never really 'ad an eye for anyone else other than yer..."

Ireland's musical voice resonated peacefully and nostalgically through the room. His eyes, though they held nostalgia, also held many other emotions that neither England or Scotland could place.

"If we blather aboyt 'im personally, as a human, there's naw one alive or dead dat Cariad loves more."

Ireland suddenly laughed lightly.

"Yer gave 'im 'is name cos yer tart yer man wus so lovin', he gave yer yers cos yer man wus convinced yer were as cuddly as dohs bears that bastard Rome used ter tell yer both aboyt..."

Ireland's eyes became slightly glassy with emotion and the nostalgia was getting to him.

"An' luk at Seamus... yer man relies on yer so much, looks up ter yer an' loves yer so much its incredible. He even calls yer 'Father' doesn't he? Despite everythin' they still wrap themselves raun yer loike dat...Oi tink...Oi tink Oi'm gonna make sum tay..."

Ireland left the room quickly rubbing at his eyes, leaving a very sobered atmosphere. England knew it would be hard for Ireland to accept him again after all they had been through. Ireland wanted to be a part of their family again not as a part of the U.K., but as a brother so badly but he was still being held back by insecurities and feelings. It didn't help that he had to give up on his claim to North either.

"He'll come aroond. Jist gie heem some time an' he'll come aroond."

England looked towards Scotland and smiled gently as a sign of thanks for his brother's rare comfort.

"I can only hope he does because I _never_ want to loose him again. But I guess that it's one step at a time right? He's already tried so hard and I know he hasn't gotten over loosing Seamus to me either. But..._thank you Alas_..."

Scotland couldn't help but smile kindly at the sound of his name from England's lips. He walked over to the younger man and though he knew it was highly uncharacteristic of him, he ran a hand through England's damp hair and bent down to kiss his forehead, lingering for a moment. He stood to full height once more and winked.

"Jist hang in there an' never give up. Yoo're a stubborn bastard sae that willnae be a problem. I'll git Seamus tae bed an' then I'll take Cari."

England blushed slightly but nodded and relinquished his hold on his younger brother. The smaller man stirred in his sleep at the feeling of being jostled and woke slightly.

"Gran' noight, father..."

England smiled at his 'son' slash 'brother'.

"Good night, my dear boy."

Scotland was soon on his way to North's room with said man curling into his chest for warmth. England watched him leave.

"Patrick's right you know."

England looked downwards to find Wales looking up at him but with half-closed eyes since he was still half asleep. England was sure he was out for the count a couple of minutes ago...

"I thought you had fallen asleep..."

"I had...but if a Scotsman who is, by the way, eleven to twelve stones of muscle decided to crush your head whilst giving someone a kiss I think you would wake up too."

England smiled kindly.

"I suppose so but-"

Wales interrupted England as he was eager to get his point.

"_Me being asleep is beside the point Artie..."_

England cocked his head to the side in confusion. He raised an eyebrow to indicate that he wanted an explanation. Wales' face was adorned by a shy smile and his face flushed even more and it wasn't due to his fever.

"...Patrick...Patrick's right you know? In this whole world, despite everything, I love you the most. I love you _so_ much I feel like I could die from it at times...You know me better than _anyone_ and I can't even remember the last time we separated by force..."

England sometimes honestly wished he could have some semblance of a 'normal' kinship with his brothers. He knew what kind of love Wales was talking about and he knew the man got just as confused as him about it. England had always heard constant stories of nations who could not work out what feelings towards each other due to their deeply entwined histories for example Spain and Italy Romano. If he had known this would be the result of centuries of wars, conquering and owning, then maybe he would have thought twice...

"I know you worry. You about everyone leaving you someday or everyone hating you but I'll tell you something. Even if I leave the Union one day I'll never leave _you. _I love you no matter what OK?"

Even though they were both confused and Wales looked like he was going to die from both embarrassment and panic, England laughed gently and bent downwards to embrace his dark-haired twin.

"You silly git. I _know_ you'll never leave me. I love you too very much so don't get so bloody flustered!"

Wales knew that England couldn't specify what kind of love he felt for him but he was so happy all the same. He wrapped his tired arms around the blonde man, nuzzled his neck gently and even gave the smooth skin a kiss or two. He was beginning to fall asleep again but an awkward sounding cough snapped him back to attention.

"Erm...Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

Both men looked up to see Scotland standing by the doorway looking very upset and like he felt out of place. Scotland was merely asking God why he always ended up walking in on England sharing a loving moment with another. He was becoming more and more disheartened as he realized that even if he managed to win England's love, that love would always have to be shared with the rest of their family. Damn Union. England would _never _belong solely to him..

"Oh, not at all Alas. Cariad was merely feeling sentimental."

"It wasn't just that you know! I was trying to cheer us both up!"

"Ah, awe rite. Erm...Ah jist came doown tae carry ye tae bed Cari, ye look like yoo're gonnae drap deid any minute noow..."

Wales seemed to cling tighter onto England, his eyes pleading for his twin to stop their eldest brother from taking him to bed. England was having none of it however, and he simply kissed the dark-haired man on the forehead and then smiled gently.

"Oh hush now. Bloody hell, you and I both know that you need to rest if you hope to get well soon. Your nephews are coming over and then Christmas and New Year celebrations begin; it would be a shame if you missed them because of illness."

Wales pondered his brother's words for a moment and saw the sense in them no matter how much he wished they were nonsense. He felt absolutely exhausted and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. They just felt much too heavy and his high fever wasn't helping at all. He looked over to Scotland and nodded his head. The older man picked Wales up in his strong hold and the younger man released a face splitting yawn. He still held one of England's hands in his own but he felt his grip becoming looser and looser as he began to fall asleep again.

"Better not...drop me...I'll see you...tomorrow Brawd...*yawn*...Thank you for...dancing and singing with...me...*yawn*...love..."

Poor Wales didn't get a chance to finish his sentence but Scotland and England knew what he wanted to say. He succumbed to the Sand Man's call and his grip on England's hand became completely slack. His head lolled to the side to rest on Scotland's broad chest. England began to feel distinctly uncomfortable as he gently placed Wales' hand on said man's lap. Ireland would return and both him and Scotland were upset. This usually never ended well for England; he had the scars to prove it.

"Wait, Alas. Let me take him to bed..."

Scotland looked confused and rightly so. England had just given Wales over to him only to take him back.

"Ye dornt need tae worry ye ken. I can carry 'im jest fine."

"No, no it's not that. It's just...well...It's just Patrick is very upset at the moment and by the looks of it so are you. I'll take Cari to bed and you and Patrick can, I don't know, have a bit of time without me in your faces..."

Scotland winced at the defeated tone in his brother's voice. Sometimes he did have to wonder how England went from an adorable, angelic child, to a tyrant and now to a nation who merely a shadow of his former self. He knew England was wracked with guilt because of everything he had ever done against his brothers and though a part of Scotland still wished to kill the man in front of him and make him suffer like they suffered, another part simply wished to embrace his brother and let him know that, though the past was bitter, there was no need for it to corrupt the future. That what he was feeling was punishment enough. Scotland sighed deeply and handed over the bundle in his arms.

"Ah'm not upset wi' ye as such..."

England looked at his brother with disbelief and then a sad smile crept on to his face.

"There is no need to lie to me. It would be better if I was not around at all but, being the selfish bastard I am, you're all stuck with me until our bosses say otherwise. I will take Cari upstairs."

After taking his brother back in his arms, England began to stride purposely to the door with every intent being to leave his eldest brothers to their own devices. A strong hand wrapped around his upper arm stopped him however. Scotland embraced his love gently, being careful not to disturbed Wales who was snoring lightly despite the commotion in the room.

"Ah thooght ye kent me better loove. Aam nae lyin'."

England found himself subconsciously moving backwards into the hold and Scotland's cheeks warmed to a radiant pink.

"One day...one day Ah have tae teel ye somethin' pure, pure important an' Ah hope...Ah really hope that one day yoo'll listen tae me. But until then, believe me when Ah say that Ah honestly dornt hate ye like Ah used tae."

England smiled sincerely. It was a far cry from the love he so desperately wished to have from the Scotsman, but it was something.

"Thank you Alas."

Scotland chuckled and turned England around in his arms, again being careful of the beloved load in England's own arms. He bent down to the blonde man's level. He could see the shadows of the log fire in England's eyes, turning them into liquid magic. England smiled as the fire's light bounced off the Scotsman's already fiery hair.

"Yer ma wee brother afta all. Sae when ye pit Cari tae sleep Ah want ye tae come back here nae lookin' sae miserable an' spend some time wi' me an' Paddy like we used tae do."

England nodded in understanding although he was quite nervous about spending time with _both _of his eldest brother's with no one else to act as a neutral middle ground. However he was willing to do so. Scotland knew that for now he wasn't ready to reveal the extent of his love for the younger man but he was happy that at least he got to tell England that he did care about him in one way or another. When Scotland released him, England began to walk to the door but he stopped suddenly and pondered something. He turned slightly to face the older man again with a grin on his face.

"I love you too, you git."

With that, he left the room feeling a bit more centered and happy. Scotland was beet-red and with a good humoured grumbled he went to sit down on the well-loved sofa to find something worth watching on the telly. Needless to say that finding something half-ways decent would be the hardest mission Scotland would ever have to undergo.

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><p>By the time England got up the stairs, on to the third floor where all the bedrooms were located and into Wales' bedroom. He was muttering a string of curses along the lines of 'Cari, you fucking heavy git.' When the blonde-haired man opened the bedroom door, his eyes were both simultaneously offended and endeared by the sight of various personal items in Wales' room all to do with...well...Wales and their family too.<p>

Pictures littered one of the walls in a strangely organised way and one was a picture that England recognised as a very old one taken sometime in the late 19th century of all the members of the United Kingdom as it was then. Even North was there, still not an official country but there all the same. Its antiquity was highlighted by the fact it was a black and white photo. The walls were painted a pale green and they were all halved by a line of white, fluffy, printed sheep Wales _insisted _he had to have. When they were in season, a vase of daffodils were also a common feature of the dark-haired man's room however they were extremely hard to come by naturally in the winter and that's how Wales preferred a lot of his things in regards to flowers and such- natural.

He tucked his twin into the bed, making sure he was wrapped up snugly. He decided to sit next to Wales and watch him sleep for a bit. Running his hands through the man's hair, he delighted in the darker-haired man's sighs of pure bliss. After a little while he began to sing a soft lullaby, a Welsh one of course, to sooth Wales when he seemed to sense England was going to leave. It seemed to do the trick since Wales' breathing became deeper, slower and more even. He bent down to kiss his brother, gently wishing him a goodnight.

"Caru chi am byth fy mrawd annwyl...no matter what happens in the future." _(Love you forever my brother...)_

England sighed and got up gently. He walked towards the open door, turning back briefly to look at the man who looked so much like himself and, smiling gently, made his way back to the living room.

When England reached the living room once more, he was surprised to see Scotland sitting on the large armchair and Ireland on the sofa chatting lightly with cups of tea in their hands. What he was more surprised about was a third steaming mug of the Godly brew sitting on the table with a small plate of biscuits.

"Oi did say dat Oi wus gonna make sum tay didn't Oi wee brah'der..."

England looked up to Ireland nervously but was almost instantly relieved by the compassionate smile on the Irishman's face.

"You did yes but...I wasn't expecting..."

"Ye silly fella. Of course Oi wus gonna make wan for yer as well!"

The blonde man laughed right out.

"Ah, I do feel quite silly now yes."

Scotland rolled his eyes dramatically and grumbled in good-humour.

"Yoo've bin silly since th' day ye waur born. Noow git yer arse oan thes sofa!"

England nodded a thanks and made his way to where Ireland was seated. He gratefully took the warm liquid and sipped bashfully. When he felt the tasty liquid hit the back of his throat and gently warm his insides he had to bite back a sigh until he had finished. Ireland chuckled musically.

"Oi'm gonna take a guess an' say dat yer loike dat tay oi made yer"

England's face flushed brightly.

"You always did make fantasic tea..."

"'E 'as a point ye noo. At least yous dun make it taste like the dirty water dat prat America call tea..."

All three burst out into thunderous laughter at Scotland's comment even if it was at America's expense.

Though England laughed, he could feel the familiar ache in his heart from the mention of his estranged 'son'. Though some thought it silly of him, he could never get over the fact that the boy left him to rot in the mud and he could never forget just how much he loved that boy or how much he still did. His eldest brother's concerned voice brought him back to the immediate present.

"Yoou alright wee one? Ah...shit...Ah'm sorry fer mentioning 'im..."

England turned to his brother with a soft smile but was momentarily taken aback by the intensity of both Scotland and Ireland's gazes.

"Oh don't worry...Seriously I'm fine it's just...you know...you never do get over loosing someone you loved more than anything in the world. I feel like a sentimental old fool for it sometimes...I always do wonder if the boy will _ever_ realise how much I still consider him my son...It's..._hard _watching him and knowing that I just have to sit back and let that _damn fool _fail at trying to control the world."

England couldn't really remember the last time he had ever been so open with his eldest brothers. Both were listening and could both definitely relate.

"That's why, Patrick, I understand exactly how you feel when you see Seamus living in my House...I can't say I'm entirely sorry but...I understand and I want you to see him more often...to see all of us more often and, if you don't mind, if you would let us see more of you too...And I understand, Alas, how you felt when you lost your little boy, when you lost Darien. And _I am sorry _for being too much of a prideful ass to help you."

Both older men listened carefully to their youngest brother and though they were not overly fond of America, they could understand. Though both Ireland and Scotland flinched flinched at the mention of loosing North and Darien, they smiled sincerely.

"Oi tink dat would be lovely..."

"Well...I cannae say that Ah was ever expectin' that but, yes, I forgive ye..."

England smiled back and was thankful for the truce that restored momentary peace to his household. He decided to lighten the atmosphere a tad.

"Well, at least I can say that I have gotten revenge on Alfred for being a sodding brat. What? Someone had to inherit my cooking skills!"

Because the older two were not expecting the change in topic, it took them a while before they clocked on and were roaring with laughter again.

"Ah definitely, me cookin' isn't as gammy as both av yers so yer man definitely did not git it from me!"

Through the laughter, Scotland managed to somewhat defend his cooking.

"Now Ah ken that yoou're nae oan abit mah haggis!"

"Jesus Christ Alasdair! At least I know my roast dinners and fish and chips are fucking edible! That haggis is practically alive on the plate!"

Through the night, until the early hours, the only sounds that could be heard from the House of the United Kingdom was joyous laughter, merry yelling and the occasional whispers when a thick and husky Welsh voice screamed for silence.

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><p>SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG! Exams and the festive season you know... . Anyways!~ I hope you liked this chapter! Favourites, reviews, constructive criticisms are all welcome!<p>

BTW!

Darien is short for the 'Darien Scheme'. It was Scotland's first and only attempt at colonisation. Darien is obviously the name of the personification of this short lived colony.

Also, in the "Good Friday Agreement" of 1998, Ireland had to give up its claim to Northern Ireland as part of the agreement.

Additionally the name Seamus is a popular and traditional Irish name that is a form of James. It means ' Supplanter' and I know the meaning isn't all that nice (it means someone who illegally or wrongly takes and hold the place of another) but there is a reason for it I promise!


	4. A Question Of Saying Sorry

**Can't believe all the support I've gotten so far and I'm so glad so many people enjoyed the last chapter!Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far, the comments were so sweet and some made me LOL! Also thank you to those who have made this story a favourite!**

**Also I'm gonna have to raise this story's rating to an M. Let's just say in about about two chapters things heat up a bit between England and Scotland...**

**Enough of me ranting!**

**Disclaimer: Yes don't worry, nothing's mine! Well everything except my OCs and plot :P**

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><p>Northern Ireland, or just 'North', was very young compared to every single one of his Uncles and Fathers (except his nephewbrother Sealand of course). He wasn't even (officially anyways) a century old and yet his four brothers were, at the very least, two-thousand years old. This made him feel quite...insecure. There was no doubt that he had his fair share of troubles and scars and though his brother's had faced a lot more than he in their entire existence he couldn't be sure on whether they had suffered so much in such a short space of time. He could still feel the sting of bullets long since shot, bombs that had long since detonated and the burn of tears long since dried. He knew how proud his 'Father' was of him and he wanted to stay with him. He fought tooth and nail with Ireland to remain with the rest of the UK even though it was literally killing him.

Thus he felt that, perhaps, his personal perceptions of the world were bias. Perhaps the world was nothing more than a theatre of war; that the beauty that can be found is pushed aside or ruined as the humans and their nations fail to recognise the fact that they all share the air they breathe and share the Earth they inhabit. He strongly believed that fighting should be the _last _resort and not the first. He understood, as well as any other nation, that sometimes fighting couldn't be helped but was there really no other way? He resigned himself long, long ago to the thought that no, there was no other way.

It was the day before the UK brothers and Ireland were due to pick up Canada, Australia and New Zealand and that was already making the boy tense. At 17 he was younger both physically and literally than all three of the nations even though he was technically their uncle. Though he loved his family to bits, he couldn't help but feel that at times they treated him much like how they would treat any normal human teenager. It was a tad frustrating but he figured that it could be much worse. He was, however, really looking forward to both nations' visit on the whole. He was younger but only by two years with New Zealand and Australia and by around two or three years with Canada, so really he was more like a younger brother to them. It was nice having people around his physical age because, as much as he cared about them, Sealand was 12, both England and Wales were 23 (even though England acted more like his nation age most of the time), Ireland was 28 and Scotland was 31. It was nice to have some younger nation in the house.

England had asked him to help with some last minute cleaning up. Scotland did some of the more arduous decorating tasks such as lifting furniture and then when he was done he set to work on his 4 x 4 that needed some refurbishment. Ireland, England and Wales were doing general decorating tasks including setting up the tree and North himself was making sure all the guest rooms were up to scratch and that they had everything they needed for Christmas and New Year. When everything was done, he decided to get some sleep as the following day would be rather hectic.

Whilst in deep sleep he found himself dreaming. He dreamt of the day that had past and he found it strange that he was dreaming of the day that had _just _gone. Nothing special had happened and thus he didn't really understand why his mind had placed such a significance on the day.

_"Seamus love! Do you mind getting the living room vases and ornaments that we put in the first storage room please?"_

_At the sound of his name and the familiar voice his head immediately snapped up and he took out his iPod headphones from his ears._

_"Waaat wus dat Father?"_

_"I said 'Do you mind getting the living room vases and ornaments that we put in the first storage room please?' And turn that music in your ears down! You're going bloody deaf!"_

_North smiled._

_"Gran' so! An' naw de volume's gran'! An' Ah've never 'eard av a nashun gettin' deaf but maybe yisser ears ain't al' waaat they used ter be Father!"_

_North couldn't help but grin when he heard his Father's outraged cry and the rest of his family roar with laughter._

_"I'll have you know, you bleeding sod, that my hearing is fucking perfect!"_

_"Aww Seamus! Ah have taught ye sae weel!"_

_"Don't you fucking encourage him you brute!-"_

_Back in the upstairs corridor, North put his headphones back in his ears and set off to complete his new task. He walked down the aged corridor until he got to the end. To his right was a heavy wooden door that lead to the third storage room which was typically used for very heavy items such as furniture. To his left was a more generic storage room that was used for things such as household items and important documents; this was the second. Looking up, his emerald eyes zero-ed in on the attic door. Usually, things that were stored in the attic were things like the Christmas decorations and was known as the first storage room. He sighed deeply because he never understood why his Father put the vases and ornaments up in the attic. He grabbed the pull-stick that was resting against the wall and proceeded to reach up with it to hook it to the circular attachment on the door in order to pull it down. When it was pulled down enough he put the stick away so that he could pull the door and thus the stairs to the floor with his own hands. After making sure the stairs were secure he began to make his ascent._

_North could feel a chill run down his spine when he entered the attic. Dusty and dreary, the room was chilly with a continuous draft that created a chorus of eerie whispers. Everything in the room seemed dated, and the dim light that came through the dusty windows shone upon the room and created odd, bone-tingling shadows upon the walls. Wallpaper was slowly beginning secure its independence from the wall as it stretched itself backwards with a dancer's grace. _

He could easily remember this part of the day, even in sleep. In his weary mind he just expected to have collected the vases and ornaments and gone back down. He subconsciously began to realise that this dream was not all it seemed when his dream self didn't do just that. He began to fidget in his sleep; pulling at the covers and the sheets.

_There was so much in the strangely large space but thankfully the vases and ornaments were near the door. However slowly, but surely, North's curiosity began to gnaw away at him. What could he find in this room if given a bit of time? He walked over to something that caught his eye for a moment. It was a large rectangular structure that was still covered by a moth-eaten cover. He grabbed at it and carefully pulled it down to reveal a majestic bookshelf underneath. He coughed slightly because of the amount of dust unleashed by all the movement. The bookshelf was taller than him and by the looks of both itself and the books it sheltered, it was older than him too. He took time to run his hands over the finely crafted wood and could immediately tell that the person who made it was very skilled indeed. Little carvings of flowers (roses, thistles, daffodils and shamrocks), animals (mostly sheep and rabbits) and words. At the very top there was an intricate design with the words 'THE UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND'. North cocked his head to the side. The bookshelf must have been, at the very least, 100 years old as he became an official country in 1922 and Ireland had declared his independence long before. _

_Out of sheer curiosity, he closed his eyes and when he opened them again they settled on a particular book that was situated on the 10th shelf and it was the 20th one along. He carefully pulled it out and wiped the dust of of it. It was still in good condition despite it obvious age. The only signs of wear were the bend in the spine, the yellowing of the pages, the fading of the cover and the the bends in the corners. He opened it up expecting to only find random notes or records, but was honestly surprised when his eyes were met by photographs. Family photographs. North's somewhat dull eyes seemed to light up at the familiar and not so familiar memories. It was almost like he was being bombarded with them. _

_There were old pictures of him as an angel-faced babe when his hair was longer and curlier, much like Ireland's. In many of these pictures he was playing with some of England's younger colonies such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand and older colonies/countries such as South Africa and India. He was always pictured with those infernal long robes with various coloured ribbons tied at the collar. There were only a couple of pictures where he was wearing breaches. Then again in the pictures he was only two-five years old in human years. _

_Some more pictures showed the family sharing secret moments with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, their various children all scattered around. The Queen actually looked happy and the humans would be shocked if they were ever to find the pictures. More and more images of his Father and his Uncles at times grinning and at times looking a bit sour. In these photos he looked around thirteen or so._

_There was quite a large seemingly official photograph that took a whole page for itself. England, looking more regal than ever and every bit a gentleman was seated in a grand armchair that was positioned on top of a step, meaning it was at a higher level than the floor. Scotland, proud and dashing, to his right-hand side and Wales, forever a picture of serenity, at his left. It almost seemed as if the two polar opposite personalities were placed next to England deliberately in order to unconsciously highlight aspects of the man's personality. Both himself and Ireland were behind the chair and it was by this point that he had grown much more, now looking around sixteen or so. Orkney, Shetland, Jersey, Guernsey and the Isle of Man were seated in front of England on the step. Behind all of them was the Union Jack. _

_He did remember this picture and the work it took to get everyone in the immediate family to take it. He felt that the lack of colours in the black, white and grey photo was a great shame. He could remember the colours of every single one of their military uniforms that were only brought out on special occasions. Reds, golds, blues, greens and it seemed as if even the black and white aspects of the uniform were more vivid. The mesh of colours, the very fabrics themselves, their medals and their insignia had brought to life a deep pride evident in all their faces. _

_England was wearing his Admiral of the Fleet uniform, Scotland and Ireland both in Field Marshall uniforms and his own uniform and rank was that of a General. The other family members all had ranks either of Admiral or General. He remembered that by that point there was no air force. England was also an Field Marshal and Scotland, Ireland and himself all had the navy ranks of Admiral and Commodore respectively. Honestly, though they had every right to have those ranks due to their knowledge and skill as nations, he could remember feeling as though it was because they were nations that they were given the ranks. There were always complaints as to why such young men received such high honours._

_As he looked through the book, he could see pictures that did upset him some. Of both himself, Ireland and Scotland looking painfully thin whilst trying to remain as bright as they could. Of Wales trying his hardest not to speak Welsh because of the rules of 'their' government. Of England looking at times guilty because of his brothers and at times frustrated because of said government. Ireland was present less and less in the photos until he simply wasn't there at all. Then there were the World War One pictures...there was no need at all to linger on those. To re-live that awful hell. _

_By the time he got to the end of the book, there were only pictures of all the brothers trying desperately to form some semblance of normality. He put that book away and picked another with a green and black cover. Now in this book not only were there pictures but also documents as well. What he saw had made him feel sick._

_Accurate and thorough documentation of 'The Troubles'. Various pictures of him battered and bloody but still fighting on and in others he was lying in his bed in a complete comatose. Letters sent back and forth between England and Ireland which only contained bitter hatred seem to smack him in the face. Memories of those years seemed to engulf him. Both himself and Ireland shooting out at each other. Father against Son and Brother against Brother. Buildings being bombed to the ground with an overwhelming sense of acute loathing and all in the name of what each party thought was right. For Ireland it was a case of if he was leaving then he would take North with him. For England however, he only wanted him to stay. North had made his choice and Ireland was furious. He could remember long nights screaming in pain and though the pain he felt at that time almost killed him, he knew that that it was killing Ireland and hurting England too. In those troublesome times he could not remember a moment where he was able to even breathe comfortably because the tension was so thick. _

_His grip loosened and the book fell out of his hands. He screamed in terror at the loud sound and collapsed to his knees in fear. He covered his ears to block out any noise as the sounds of bombs replayed a devastating tune in his head over, and over again. He could feel tears running down his face and violent shivers rack his frame. Why hadn't anyone shown these to him? He had every single right to know about the pictures, the documents and the memories. _

_He continued to shriek as the house seemed to collapse from under him, leaving him to fall through the sky. His ruined cities lay in tatters below him, the wails and the shouts of his people around him. He desperately tried to grab at the remains of the house to stop his fall. His hands managed to grab onto something soft. Looking up, his petrified emerald orbs met two identical pairs. England and Ireland both shouting at him whilst holding onto his hands in desperation. The sound of his name permeated the sweat soaked air..._

* * *

><p>"Seamus...SEAMUS!"<p>

"Jesus feckin' Chroist wake up! WAKE UP LAD!"

He bolted awake at the loud sounds and began to lash out in a frenzied desperation when he felt limbs and bodies press him down into his bed. Cold sweat dripped down his face and soaked his clothes through .

"FECKIN' GIT AFF ME! LAY AFF!"

England and Ireland briefly glanced at each other and held firm.

"Seamus, it's us! It's your Father and Patrick! Sshh, it's just us my boy."

North's mind seemed to register what was happening and his body followed soon after. He seemed to become numb and slack but somehow managed to raise his tired body to launch himself into England's arms. He was sobbing like a wretch. His breath came short and his lungs, as greedy as they were, could never seem to get enough air into them. He was shaking and sweating profusely. Ireland looked shell-shocked by North's complete disregard for his presence but soon his expression changed to a shamed grimace and he lowered his eyes.

"Shh my boy...my dear boy...I'm here...I'm always here..."

North began to cough and choke as he wept. He looked up at England and tried to speak.

"F-father..._Father..."_

England held him tightly, stroking his back and hair reassuringly.

"I know my love..._I know..."_

As he looked up at his father he finally noticed Ireland's presence in his room properly. Feelings of bitterness rose with the bile in his throat. If only Ireland had taken his independence and left it at that. He had no right to try and take his away. For almost a century he was tormented by 'The Troubles' and _not once _did Ireland ever apologise. England did apologise for his part in the ordeal. As much as many nations saw England as a tyrant, to North himself he wasn't. He was not only upset, he was _angry_.

Although he was seemingly alright with Ireland staying at their house, inside he was absolutely petrified and confused and angry and he honestly couldn't sort he own feelings out. He loved the man as much as he loved England but the simple fact was that whilst the latter raised and loved him continuously as best he could, the former had tried to kill him. Even after the Good Friday Agreement how could he trust him? No matter who disagreed with him, those three whole decades of violence were war as far as he was concerned. He was being completely torn apart with the contradictory wishes of his people. Half of him wanted to be Irish and Catholic. To be a complete country together with Ireland in freedom. The other half simply wished to be British and Protestant. To remain with his Father and his Uncles in their crazy household and to look forward to the future together. In the end he wanted to stay with the United Kingdom and his decision remained so. Didn't Ireland understand at the time? He even opted out of the Irish Free State in December 1922 for Christ's sake!

"_Git out_..."

Both Ireland and England looked at the boy in complete surprise. The look on North's face was void of every emotion except hatred and distrust.

"Seamus...Patrick's here because he's worried-"

"Oi don't _care_, Oi said _git de feck out_!"

Ireland's face morphed from shock to icy bitterness.

"Oi_ know _Oi'm not yer most favourite person in de warrld but Oi'm still technically yisser _Father_. Oi won't 'ave yer _blatherin' _ter me loike dat cos yer_ know _'ow much oi love yer."

Something in North seemed to snap. He shoved England off him and lashed out at the older Irishman, knocking both off the bed. Whilst they struggled, North began to scream bloody murder.

"Feckin' _love_ me? YER TRIED TER FUCKIN' _KILL _ME YER BASTARD! YE 'AVE NO DAMN ROIGHT TER CALL YERSELF ME FATHER!"

"Oi never wanted it ter go dat feckin' far an' yer_ know _dat!"

England's face was as pale as a sheet as he watched his son and his former spouse fight on the floor. He knew that unless North calmed down, he could deal some serious damage. He also knew that Ireland could only take so much... He saw that North was blatantly hurting and it wasn't just the bombings and the killings and the disagreements. He knew that what hurt Northern Ireland the most was that himself and Ireland were fully capable of sorting out their differences in a peaceful manner but they didn't. They just kept willingly tearing each other apart in the name of their own ideals and they were _still _doing it. They didn't know any other way. What was so sad was that, perhaps, their relationship was so damaged it might not be possible to put back together.

Blows were exchanged from North's end, splitting the older nations lips and bruising his cheeks. Ireland kept from lashing out as much as possible, his wounds would heal within the hour but what North was feeling wouldn't. England tried to restrain he son but the boy was hysterical. After a while he did manage to restrain the younger man somewhat but he still had a tight hold on Ireland. When the punches came to a sluggish end, Ireland looked up in surprise when he felt tears drop like rain from above. North was sobbing again. Sobbing like a tiny child and the look in the younger man's dull eyes was distressing. The Republic then began to realise just _what _he had done to his own son. He had seen all of England's faults as a parent and he never wanted to follow in that path but he did. The broken shell of a boy above him who barely talked was the result of both him and both their peoples. But somehow it wasn't about what his people did anymore, though that played a large part, it was about what _he _had personally done.

"...Wus it...Wus it too much ter ask...for yer ter jist love me?"

Both England and Ireland could feel their hearts breaking. They had caused this pain and there was no way to take it back. Ireland answered honestly, knowing that no amount of sugar-coating would do any good.

"Naw me fella, it wus _never _too much ter ask..."

"Den why did ye try ter kill me? With yer hatred an' yer bombs an' yer words...Parents ain't suppose ter try an' kill their laddies!"

"Seamus...-"

North slammed both his fists down on Ireland's chest. England rubbed his shoulder and back in an attempt to sooth him.

"Naw! Yisser words don't match yisser acshuns so jist waaat am Oi suppose ter tink? Waaat am Oi suppose ter tink whaen ye were de wan who gave me a name dat means_ 'supplanter' _an' not cos it wus popular? Cos yer tart I had stolen aff yer? When will yer learn dat Northern Oirlan' is mine now? Oi can barely git any sleep cos av de pain Oi still feel every single feckin' day an' me 'ead hurts as if 'tis bein' bombed..."

"Son..."

"...Yer know Oi've changed Seamus...Yer know Oi'm still changin'-"

North cut him off abruptly. His eyes demanded the attention that had long been denied to him.

"Yer know waaat Oi asked Finlan' for Christmas?"

Ireland looked a tad confused and looked to England briefly for any hints at what their son could have possibly asked for. England caught his former spouse's eyes but he didn't know the answer.

"Naw laddie, Oi don't..."

North's mouth became a grim, somber line. He was shaking with exhaustion.

"Oi asked 'im ter 'elp yer love me...Oi've been askin' fer that ever since Oi were born...an' every year Oi'm dissapointed...Oi'm sick an' tired of bein' disappointed year after year."

Ireland continued looking into his son's eyes and felt ashamed. North collapsed onto his father and cried into his chest.

"An' after al' dat Oi still don't understan' why Oi love yer so much."

Ireland lay there in a complete stupour. He supposed that he was so caught up with trying to rebuild a relationship with England that he didn't spend much time with North to get past their own problems. But he was confused. Why did the boy treat him with such civility if he felt so bitter?

"Why laddie...why did yer treat me so nice then?"

"Cos Oi knew it wud make Father 'appy."

England looked shocked. Ireland sighed and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"Yer never nade ter ask Finlan' again. Ever. Yer never needed te...Please believe me whaen Oi say dat Oi love yer."

When North didn't reply he carried on.

"Oi never expected ter be visitin' dis house again yer know . But Ah've cum 'ere an' demanded apologies but you're such a kind babe. Not once 'ave ye asked for an apology but Oi know you've been wantin' wan. A sincere wan. 'Tis not enoof ter simply say Oi love yer though dat is de truth."

Ireland hugged his son tighter and tears seemed to stream down in torrents from his eyes.

"Oi'm sorry. _Oi'm so, so sorry_. Oi know Ah've done wrong but...but please understan' dat Oi did waaat Oi did cos Oi love yer so much. Oi love yer_ so much _that Oi couldn't _bare_ ter let ye go. In de end...yer a part av me land...yer me only son...Oi only tried ter take yer back cos Oi tart dat wus best. I tart it woods be best if ye stayed with me. Together with our Oirland. But you're so happy 'ere an' Oi see dat nigh."

At that moment Scotland and Wales rushed to the door. Their eyes were frenzied with worry, their hair messy with sleep and they didn't even have slippers on but the calmed slightly when they saw that everyone was more or less alright.

"Paddy, Artie, Seamus are you all alright!"

"What's gonnae oan here? We heard screamin' an' cryin'...what the feck happened?

Ireland looked at Scotland from his position on the floor.

"It'll be gran' nigh. Don't worry..."

Scotland looked at his brother with suspicion. Wales was wringing his hands with worry.

"Are you _sure_ Paddy?..."

When Ireland nodded, both brothers looked at each other and made the silent decision to leave them to their devices but it was very clear they did this with much hesitation. Scotland was the last one out of the room. He turned around and smiled at North but glared quite caustically at Ireland.

"If Ah hear that laddy cry like that again, I'll have ye...Yoo had better teel me whit happened in the mornin' or Ah willnae be too happy..."

He knew that the moment himself or Wales heard _anything _that was so much as a minor cuss they would have no choice but to go back in. England looked up to his eldest brother and smiled reassuringly.

"I think Patrick's right...I think we'll be alright now Alas, thank you..."

Scotland still didn't want to take any chances. He smiled sleepily and nodded at England. Wales was waiting quietly outside the door.

"Alrecht, if ye say sae. But ye ken where mah room is if somethin' else happens."

With a reciprocated nod, Scotland left the room but left the door slightly ajar. After a moments silence, when they were all sure that both Wales and Scotland were in their respective rooms, North's small voice spoke up.

"Did yer...did yer mean...waaat ye said jist nigh?"

North had lifted himself up on weary arms to look down sadly at his Father but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. England, still behind North, waited anxiously for the answer. He knew the pain his son felt and he knew the boy would be devastated if Ireland was lying to him. Perhaps so devastated that he may not recover. He had such high hopes that Ireland would one day return the love he felt for him and wanted to be the best nation he could possibly be in the hope that Ireland would be proud enough to call him 'son' one day. A familiar flame began to heat England's body. Scotland would have to line up because he would kill Ireland with his bare hands if he _dared _lie to his boy. He had spent too long and worked too hard trying to keep the younger man safe and he had too much love in his to watch him go through hell once more. Ireland had a lot to make up for and England would be damned if he'd let the man leave their son out in the cold. When Ireland replied, he spoke strongly and clearly with conviction. He looked his son straight in the eyes and never missed a beat.

"Oi meant every single ward. Oi said dem as sincerely as if Oi were prayin' ter de Lord above."

It seemed as if in that moment the moon outside had chosen to shine upon them. The soft glow caressing their bodies. Tension seemed to evaporate into thin air. Both men burst into tears as North embraced the older man fiercely._ Finally_. Finally he had gotten the sincere apology he was so desperate for and from the person he needed it from most. Finally he had been granted the only thing he had ever wanted since his birth. For _both_ of his parents' love. England let out a shaky breath he didn't even realise he was holding and his anxiousness melted away into a feeling of euphoria. God only knew what struggles lay ahead for the three of them but he knew that this season of personal forgiveness was a solid foundation to build a new relationship upon. He knew that if they could forgive each other, then they could accomplish anything.

The blonde man bent forward to embrace both the men who meant _so _much to him. It seemed as if God was finally looking down at his family and blessing them. England voiced this happiness.

"This is a new start. We've all been given one more chance."

Ireland, who had North cuddled to his chest, lifted himself and North up to be face-to-face with England, brushing his nose with his own. Without thinking and acting on complete impulse he grabbed the blonde man's chin and he kissed him hard, completely overwhelmed with the whole situation. His hand snaked its way from the Englishman's chin to his blonde locks where it pulled the younger man closer in order to deepen the kiss. He moved his lips against the other man's with a delighted eagerness and this seemed to increase when the younger man indulged him. Ireland had almost completely forgotten what it felt like to kiss England and they both moaned in remembrance and joy. When they parted both men were flushed. Ireland chuckled at both his impulsive action and the reaction it brought. The older man looked at his younger brother in complete awe whilst stroking his cheek.

"Oi'm so 'appy..."

England embraced both Ireland and North harder in response. When the older men looked down they found that North was almost asleep. England and Ireland got up, careful not to disturb their son. They too were beginning to feel fatigue seep into their bones. Once comfortably settled on the bed (that somehow managed to fit all of them), they each began to let oblivion sweep them away.

"Gran' noight...Father and Mother."

England gave Ireland an annoyed look and sighed. He was pretty much used to it be now. kissed North's temple in reply. Ireland could feel his heart swell with love for his son.

"Gran' noight me fella...me dearest son..."

* * *

><p>Wales and Scotland were washed, dressed and getting breakfast ready but they both felt incredibly uneasy. They had not seen hair of hide of England or the Irish duo since the previous night. They hadn't heard them either. Wales was shaking slightly, the sound of North's despairing wails resounding in his head coupled with flash backs of his twin's helplessness and Ireland's own shamed expression did him no good. As very close family, and in himself and England's case twins, himself and Scotland could feel everything they felt. His closed eyes snapped open in alarm when he felt a large, strong hand on his shoulder.<p>

"Are ye awe rite Cari?"

Wales relaxed his tense muscles and shook his head. Scotland looked anxious too.

"Hows aboout we go an' see if they're all awe rite hmm? Perhaps yoo'll feel better?"

Wales looked up at his eldest brother and nodded eagerly. They both made their way to North's room with purposeful strides.

* * *

><p>England had woken up due to a stream of sunshine hitting his side of the bed through a gap in the heavy curtains. He raised himself gently and smiled a rare but gentle smile. Both Ireland and North were still asleep. North was wrapped around his Irish father but had his legs entwined with England's own. Ireland right arm was thrown around North's body to hold England's left arm which was also thrown around the younger man too. England felt warm and light inside; as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulder and replaced with a blanket of summer clouds. Both Ireland and North looked peaceful and serene. Their red hair a sharp contrast to the white pillows and their freckled, creamy skin complemented the emerald green sheets. There was a subtle change in his son. Though it wasn't very noticeable, his facial features were sharper and more defined. His boy had finally aged to 'adulthood'.<p>

England was debating with himself on how to get out of bed without disturbing the other two men when he heard the door creak. As it opened slowly and carefully, two very familiar heads appeared. When Scotland and Wales saw England completely immersed in the dazzling sunlight seemingly content and still fuzzy-eyed with sleep, they both could feel their hearts skip a beat. Even the sight of Ireland's arm curled possessively over England's and his hand subconsciously stroking the smooth skin didn't make them feel as annoyed as it usually would because too much had happened the previous night. England yawned and rubbed his eyes. He then climbed out of bed gently to avoid waking the sleeping males. He spoke as he grabbed one of North's robes to wear himself.

"Good morning to you both..."

England then walked out of the room in order to speak to his brothers properly and get a much needed cup of tea. Wales spoke up first.

"Morning! We were...erm...we were worried..."

England grinned at both anxious men as they went down the stairs.

"Didn't we tell you last night that we would be fine. I think you'll find that things may be a bit easier now."

Scotland and Wales gazed at England with both kindness and concern though Wales looked close to tears.

"Ye cannae blame us fur bein' worried, nae with the soonds of Seamus screamin' like that an' Paddy shooutin' an' ye lookin' sae helpless..."

"What happened Artie?..."

England turned to his eldest brother and his twin. He placed a hand on both brother's cheeks.

"I know, I know. Thank you for worrying. Let's get some breakfast and I'll tell you what happened.''

They did just that. With steaming cups of either coffee or tea and a full English breakfast in front of them, England felt that he should tell them what happened.

"Well North had a nightmare and he was kicking and screaming. Ireland and I heard him since we were still awake..."

Both Wales and Scotland regarded that comment with suspicion especially since England's cheeks warmed to pink.

"We were still getting stuff ready for when we pick up Matthew, Bruce and Noah later today. When we heard Seamus we were going to our bedrooms. When we tried to calm Seamus down he began to lash out at both of us. In his sleep he was shouting about so many bloody things it was hard to keep track. He woke up and began to sob. When he realised that Patrick was there too he...well...he didn't take too kindly to that..."

England let his head rest in his hands.

"It's been a while since I've seen my boy that angry. That sodding nightmare must have been about Patrick and 'The Troubles'..."

"Hoow dae ye ken that?"

England looked at his brother with a saddened gaze.

"Because he completely gave up...he was sobbing like a wretch thinking that he had asked too much of Patrick when all he wanted was to be loved."

Scotland's facial expression became solemn.

"You know what he's been asking Finland for Christmas for centuries?"

Wales and Scotland listened more intently than ever.

"He's been asking him to help Patrick love him but we all know that Finland can never grant such things. It breaks my heart to think that he's been asking for something he's always had but never always received...It's made me think, as much as I want to believe I had enough love in my heart to give that boy to compensate...it's never the same is it?...Did you know that just by knowing that Patrick really does love him he's aged a year? He's finally an adult by human terms. My boy keeps growing up and there's only so much I can do for him now...but I'm so happy, I'm so bloody happy because they're both happy."

Wales leaned into his twin, resting his head on the man's shoulder to try to comfort him. England in return laid his head on his twin's, long dark locks tickling his face. Scotland, in another rare gesture of affection, held the blonde's hand and stroked his knuckles with his thumb reassuringly.

"Yoo've personally doone yer best fur that lad. He's groon intae a fine man an' a finer nation. An' ye three have every reit tae be canty after the last century."

"Scottie's right. This is a new start for the three of you and for all of us as a family. We're all proof that we _can_ change. As_ people _we _can _change_. _That's a beautiful thing..."

When Ireland and North walked in looking very happy and calm, albeit a tad awkward, the three brothers raised their heads. Establishing his dominance as the eldest brother, Scotland spoke first. He thought that it would be best to bring his thoughts forward. When he spoke everyone could recognise the deep, level tone of voice as one that commanded utmost respect. It was one that was used for wise words and stern advice.

"Aam very happy. Dornt git me wrang, Ah am."

Ireland looked his brother in the eyes, unafraid but not defiant.

"But, like Ah tauld ye last night, if Ah here that wee bairn cryin' an' screamin' like that again and Arthur lookin' sae lost because of ye...I dornt think I'll take sae kindly tae that."

Ireland nodded in understanding.

"But enoough av that! Thes is a special time fur all av us!~"

The tension in the air evaporated when Scotland changed back to his normal cheery tune. The family all sat down for breakfast and, as England watched them laughing and happy, an overwhelming feeling of_ awe _came over him. He simply couldn't believe that this was the same family from not even a couple of days back. He had never thought that they would _ever _be able to sit down and laugh with each other without the constant ill feelings between them. He sent praise and thanks to the God he often blasphemed about and never even really acknowledge any more. He gave thanks for this second chance to start again. Though their political and personal lives were still fraught with adversity, he felt as if they could somehow get through absolutely anything because they had been through absolutely everything. He could never take back everything he had done to his family and they couldn't take back their wrongs either but he knew, deep in his heart, that this precious last chance was what would drive them all forward as a family. They had all realised just what was at stake, just what they could loose and, as Ireland had said before, they had now all made their choice. His thoughts drifted to his mother, the most beautiful woman he had ever had the pleasure of knowing and what she had said before she had died.

_'Even if you all loose your way and take up arms against each other, just know that I will be their in each of you. I will be there to hold your hands and lead to safely back to home..."_

England smiled to himself whilst sending a silent thanks to his mother.

_'Thank you for giving us back our family...'_

"Oi Art'ur! Yer luk loike yer in another warrld smilin' all silly ter yerself loike that!"

"Belt up, I'm feeling sentimental!"

"Oohh Artie!~ You've been feeling like that a lot recently!~"

"That's coz he's surroonded by sooch awesome fawlk like us!~"

"Shut the bloody hell up, Alasdair, you sound like Gilbert!"

Ireland decided at that point he would really get the conversation going by making quite an untoward comment that could have potentially started World War Three. With a sadistic smirk for Scotland and Wales and a softer, lopsided grin for England that was coupled with a wink and _'come hither' _eyes he decided to state a very good point.

"Yer know somethin', Ar'hur? Yisser lips are jist as saft an' warm as Oi remember dem...me room later yes?"

Three things happened. England became screamed and became beet red and Scotland and Wales transformed into warring nuclear states. Both their accents thickened with rage.

"PATRICK!"

"What the fuck have you been doin' to him since you've been here!"

"Yer lucky Ah am feckin' sober otherwise Ah woods feckin' dash ye at a wall!"

North interrupted the war with a euphoric and musical laugh. He seriously couldn't believe that the men in front of him were at least two thousand years older than him! The whole table suddenly burst out laughing. North looked around and felt the same awe that his now Mother had felt minutes before. He didn't know how many days they all had left of being a complete United Kingdom but he did know one thing. His whole family were completely crazy, old, bad tempered and the list went on.

And he couldn't imagine his life without them.

* * *

><p><strong>HEY EVERYONE! Thank you for reading and I hope you have enjoyed chapter four and, like I have said previously, this is not meant to be read as a bash at any country in reality! <strong>

**Reviews, faves, constructive criticisms are all welcome as always.**


	5. Christmas

**Hey everyone! I am absolutely terrible 'cos I haven't uploaded in so long... BUT! I have this chapter and the next three down so I'll post those up at regular intervals. **

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, made this a favourite or even just simply read this fic, it makes me very happy :3**

**Disclaimer: I own nada except my OCs and plot...**

* * *

><p>'Flipping hell...'<p>

That was the only thought that ran through England's head on the 23rd of December 2010. It was 11 o'clock at night and the temperature outside of Heathrow Airport **(1)** was inhospitably bitter to say the least. He was currently waiting for Canada to arrive from his flight and he was also expecting both Australia and New Zealand around two hours after him. Waiting wasn't really an issue. Really, it wasn't. The issue wasn't even the fact that _all _his brothers, bar Sealand who was (as always) with his Nordic family, were present and waiting right with him. They were, for once, quite well behaved. The problem was that he couldn't help becoming sick with worry. He never really trusted aeroplanes. So many things could go wrong and the only thing keeping him calm was the numerous cups of tea he had ingested. Everyone was _still _laughing outright at the icy glare and hissed _'Piss off, Bible-basher'_ England had directed at Ireland when the older man attempted to sooth him by saying, _"Don't worry wee brah'der! Jist 'av faith in the auld Paddy upstairs!"_

Though he was secretly glad that they were making the attempt to distract him from his worry, he knew they were practically shitting themselves as well. Honestly, England found the claim that more people in the world get killed by donkeys than planes ridiculous. Had the people who conducted the research ever bared in mind that many planes' components were held together by bleeding double-sided tape?** (2)**

"Mother..."

England looked at his son with a deadpan expression. Ever since Ireland had stepped up to his responsibilities of being a proper father to North once again, the boy had begun to call England 'Mother' in order to differentiate between the two much like he did when he was a toddler. The younger boy simply smirked and carried on.

"Mother luk, people are comin' oyt nigh from Matthew's flight..."

England snapped his head towards the direction of the young man's gaze. There were indeed people from Canada's flight exiting but there was no sign of the shy lad anywhere. He could certainly feel the lad's presence however. All of the Island brothers got up and waited at the sides of the metal barriers. England could feel anticipation bubble up inside him and it all seemed to spill over in a raging flood as soon as he saw his boy, all shy and looking around as he came out of the one-way doors in a pair of brown knee high boots, dark blue jeans and a beige winter coat. The English nation honestly thought that Ireland's arrival had made him seriously uncharacteristic as he jumped over the barrier, his brothers not to far behind him, shouting out to his Canadian son whose eyes seemed to light up with ecstasy when the older man tackled him.

"My dear boy! How was your flight? I'm so glad you're safe!"

Poor Canada didn't even get a chance to speak before he was completely swarmed by his family and the scene was an endearing one to the people around them. Ireland however stood to the side awkwardly, not really sure if he should join in the touching family moment even if the younger man already knew that he was staying for Christmas and New Year. His uncertainty vanished when Canada's soft voice was heard amongst the commotion when the other nations had let him go.

"This is a lovely surprise, Uncle Ireland; it's so good to see you!"

Ireland smiled. Canada was awfully kind with a heart the size of his own country.

"Nigh waaat did Oi tell yer on de phone? Oi'm not 'avin' me own nephew call me by me formal name! Cum 'ere me dear fella!"

The young blonde flushed with slight embarrassment but gave his uncle a strong hug all the same.

"It's great to see you here with the others Uncle Patrick. I've missed seeing you especially around this time of year..."

Ireland moved to cup his nephew's face with his hands noting that though his nephew looked so much like France, there was just _something_ about him that reminded him of England. He couldn't place his finger on it but it was there all the same. No matter how much the boy was forgotten or mistaken for his brother, he had grown up into a very fine nation.

"Well thar's naw need ter miss me so much nigh cos Oi'm 'ere an' Oi promise dat you'll see more av me from now on. Gran' so?"

Canada smiled sweetly and nodded in agreement. England voiced a suggestion when they had all moved away from the arrival gates to the arrival lounges.

"Matthew, son, let's get your luggage into the car and then I'll treat you to a cup of whatever you like whilst we wait for your brothers. How does that sound my boy?"

Matthew turned to look at his 'father' and looked down whilst fidgeting with the strap of his shoulder bag.

"Father, that's not necessary eh! Please don't because I am already going to be living under your roof for a month and I don't want to be a bother!"

At that all five of the British and Irish brothers looked at the Canadian as if he had suddenly whipped out a bunch of American flags and gone, _'Hahahaha!~ Wrong twin guys!'_ or if a second head had sprouted from beneath the confines of his beige winter coat. The facial expression was identical amongst the brothers and the Canadian found that it was incredibly weird when they did it all together at the _same _time; the resemblance was uncanny. Northern Ireland was the first to somehow regain his senses enough to speak.

"Excuse me? Oi don't tink Oi 'eard yer correctly. Ye seriously tryin' ter say dat you're a hassle in our house?"

Scotland seemed to wake up as well.

"Ye dornt serioosly believe that yoo're a botha dae ye? Ye realise that yoo're not ye divit of a brother dornt ye?"

"I know I'm not my brother eh! But honestly you are all so kind to me and I feel that I'd be taking advantage..."

Wales glanced at England, nodded and then they both decided to put an end to both that sentiment and the debate once and for all. England smirked briefly despite the situation; sometimes being a twin was a God-send.

"You're family boyo! Simple as!~"

"But-"

"No buts son. You know that we-"

"-Have never, ever, minded you staying and-"

"-You can't take advantage if-"

"-There is no advantage to take because-"

"-What's ours is yours and that's that."

Both twins took a deep breath and without missing a beat and in complete sync they both spoke with an odd cheerfulness.

"**Now that that's done, what would you like to drink?~"**

Canada and all three remaining brothers looked at the twins in an mixture of awe, incredulity and fear.

"Ah will never, ever, git used tae that..."

"Mother**,** Uncle...don't yer ever realise how creepy dat is?"

"Seamus has a very good point eh...but then again it's the same with Alfred and myself..."

"Oi swear ter God if both av yer are secretly psychic then Oi'm not surprised. But if yer both know waaat de other is tinkin den why not wan av yer say it?"

Both England and Wales were smirking identically devilish smirks. Wales' deceptively sweet voice filtered through the as he moved to hold his twin's hand. England's innocent tenor then rung out not a second later.

"Because that's boring!~"

"And besides, all of your expressions are _priceless._ Now my dear son, what do you want to drink?"

After the rest of the family had managed to somehow snap out of their stupor, they began to move towards the car park in order to put Canada's bags away. They then traveled to a generic, admittedly over-priced coffee shop within the airport. In next to no time all six members of the family were sitting around a table sipping at their respective drinks: England with a signature cup of Earl Grey tea, both Canada and Wales opted for a hot-chocolate with cream and marshmallows, Ireland had simple bog-standard tea, Scotland with some bog-standard tea that was spiked with whiskey and North decided to be even more of a rebel than Scotland and had a coffee. Scotland was the first to get the conversations starting.

"Sae Matta, ye never did answer yer Father aboout hoow yer flight went. Not that Ah blame ye..."

The elder man turned to his bristled younger brother with lazy smirk and winked, secretly delighting in his slight deflation and the pink tinge that had illuminated his cheeks. Maybe there was no reason to lose hope after all. On England's end he was simply trying hard not to show just how much he was affected by the red-head's winks and was quite unsure as to why the man seemed to be winking at him more often as if he knew what it did to him. He gulped and turned away in embarrassment. The remaining brothers looked on with mild jealousy or curiosity. Canada didn't even notice really.

"Erm...the same you know? The food wasn't too bad this time, there were no screaming children, the flight stewardesses had too much make up on...Oh, and I can never shake off the feeling that any human can tell we're _different_ eh...

Ireland smiled at that.

"Oh aye. Humans, as slow as they can be, are somehow highly receptive ter us as nashuns, especially our own people."

England smiled.

"It's a bloody wonder they haven't all figured us out."

They continued to converse with each other, light and happy, updating each other on recent events but being weary of the time. After about an hour, England looked down at his watch. His eyes widened when he realised the time. He took a deep breath and tried to sense any other nations in his territory. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Yer alroight Mother? Wait, 'av Bruce an' Noah arrived?

England suddenly got up and looked up at the numerous screens telling him that the flight from Auckland to London had arrived along with at least three other flights and that baggage was already being unloaded.

"Shit, Seamus' right. Everyone get up, I can feel the boys here, walking on my land."

They all got up quickly and amongst all the cheerful babble they were all relieved that the flight had made it. They lined themselves up once again, leaning on the railings that marked the arrival gate and waited anxiously, desperately looking out for the Oceanic pair. Soon crowds began to exit the luggage area and even Scotland seemed to have to strain himself in order to see. The feeling of more nations at such a close proximity was making all of the family twitchy; thank God that Australia had a fantastic set of lungs on him.

"MUM! MUM! YA LOOK JUST AS MUMSY AS THE LAST TIME I SAW YA!"

A softer, more feminine voice shouted along with him.

"Māmā! Mātua Kēkē! Tuākana! We're right here! We've missed you!"

Both parties rushed each other once again in a flurry of desperate affection and were again the subject of endearment though this time many of the humans were also confused. Did those boys just call the blonde man who looked no older than themselves their mother? They honestly couldn't fathom how any of them were related at all except perhaps the red-haired Irish men and the twins.

"Bloody hell, you two have always been too loud! Both of you come here!"

All the brothers and Canada stood back as England held both young men in his arms, laughing as they both kissed his cheeks with innocent affection while bombarding the older man with an onslaught of talking. This, they all thought, was the England that many other nations didn't even know existed but was the England they couldn't help but adore. He was the father who would die for his children and who reveled in these family moments no matter how stiff he was half the time.

"I seriously thought that mum was having a laugh when he told us that you were staying over too Uncle Ireland!"

Ireland laughed at Australia's comment.

"Jesus bleedin' Chroist, 'oy many times must Oi tell yer all not ter call me by me formal name! Oi'm family for Chroist's sake!"

"Then it's nice to see you again Uncle Patrick!"

Ireland smiled at New Zealand who seemed just as androgynous as ever.

"That's much better!Cum 'ere an' give yisser Uncles an' yisser brah'der sum attenshun!"

England offered a silent prayer to whoever was listening as he gazed upon his family.

_'Thank you. Thank you for bringing them all safe to me.'_

"All right, not too much attention though! I want to get you both a drink and then go the fuck home! It's bloody late!"

"Aww mum! I'd have called ya a kill joy if ya didn't mention the drinks part!"

"And by drinks, Bruce, I mean something non-alcoholic!"

"Mum! How old d'ya think I am?"

"Not old enough! And stop calling me 'mum'!"

The family began to laugh and even Northern Ireland, as quiet as he was, had to admit that this kind of noise, this happy noise, was wonderful to say the least. After the final round of (strictly non-alcoholic) drinks the family loaded themselves into two cars. Canada, Australia, New Zealand and Northern Ireland hopped into England's modest black Ford Mondeo and the remaining brothers and all the luggage occupied Scotland's 4 x 4.

England's car was a happy babble of chatter and though England would usually get an acute migraine from the amount of commotion, he found that the migraine simply never came.

"Hey Seamus! How ya been? I ain't seen ya for a while and would ya look at that! You're older now ain't ya?"

North turned to look at his geographically distant brother and found not only his eyes on him but also Canada's and New Zealand's.

"Ah've been gran' so. De same yer know? Jist tryin' ter git by...And yes, Oi've grown a year..."

"I'm glad; I'm surprised ya haven't gone off the wall living with mum's awful cooking!"

"One more negative word about me or my cooking Bruce and I'll have you eating it at fucking Christmas!"

Bruce's tanned face immediately drained of colour.

"Ya know I was only joking, right mum?"

England laughed. He himself thought that there was nothing wrong with his cooking but if he could use it as a weapon then why not? New Zealand flicked one of Australia's ahoges and began to laugh sweetly.

"Oooh Māmā, I've been handing Bruce's arse to him on a plate in rugby! Honestly, I think you need to teach him again 'cos he's getting a bit rusty!"

Australia flushed deeply.

"Oi! I haven't been doin' that bad you bloody Kiwi! And don't flick me hair! It's not my fault your hair makes you look like a sheep!"

"Now, now boys. You're Uncles and I raised you both to be fantastic at that sport and so you are. You never really took to rugby did you Matthew?"

At the sound of his name the Canadian looked up at his Father.

"No Father. You know me, I'm all for hockey and skiing..."

"Aww one day we'll have ya playing rugby with the rest of us! I've seen you on the ice and I think you'd be perfect, if only a little scary..."

Canada smiled at Australia and an uncharacteristic mischievousness lit up his eyes. England couldn't help but think that his son's resemblance to France was uncanny!

"Well if I'm going to have to play rugby then I think it's only fair that you try your hand at hockey eh..."

Bruce grinned and accepted the challenge but New Zealand knew better that to try and face Canada of all nations in a game of hockey and declined the offer amicably. For a while the babble continued until England noticed that his children had begun to fall asleep one-by-one starting with New Zealand and ending with Canada. Well, all but one that is.

"'Tis quite strange, Mother, whaen everythin' is quiet. Oi'm not sure whether ter be thankful or sad..."

England looked into his front mirror and caught bright emerald eyes and a tired expression staring out of the window.

"I suppose so, son. You tired yet?"

"Aye, but yer nu as well as Oi do dat Oi canny sleep pure well on de move. But Oi'll be gran' so."

England nodded in acknowledgment but on the inside he felt real compassion for his son. His short life had not been easy and it still wasn't but he was doing all he personally could to help him. When he was younger it was not rare for the boy to cry himself to sleep or scream and thrash because of pain and nightmares. Nowadays the boy still constantly felt a mild ache in his heart and a soft pounding in his head but he could cope with it. He had hardened himself against it and learned to enjoy life as much as he could. His reconciliation with Ireland did much to help him however and England enjoyed seeing the boy so happy even though he didn't really voice it. After all the man was a quiet soul. England felt pride swell in his chest when he looked at his brave, handsome boy. Northern Ireland grinned at the blonde.

"Don't git al' sad or sappy Mother, let's enjoy dis peace while it lasts."

"You're right there lad. You're right there..."

The two cars continued driving through the night until they reached the house about three hours later.

* * *

><p>The following morning was a lazy one to say the least. New Zealand and Australia were still getting over severe jet-lag and, though his flight wasn't nearly as long, Canada was also still feeling a tad sleepy. The house was fuller than usual after the arrival of the Isle of Man, Guernsey, Jersey, Orkney and Shetland and everyone was filled with joyful Christmas cheer that seemed to buzz in their veins. North didn't know that they were coming over but he was genuinely delighted that they did. It was nice to have some of his younger British Isles siblings around as well as Australia and New Zealand. The three young women and four young men were a welcome presence in the house and their laughter was infectious to those around them.<p>

"Mère, will Père be coming round today?" **(3)**

England turned around to look at the softly spoken Guernsey from his seat at the dining table. The seventeen year old was on the two-seater sofa in the soft embrace of her twin Jersey. Her hip length, corn-coloured hair framed her delicately flushed face and her rectangular glasses added professionalism to that face that was balanced by her serene expression and tender smile. Her ocean blue eyes were as peaceful as her little island. Her appearance was contrasted by the equally as beautiful but much rougher looking Jersey who despite having the same coloured hair as his sister (though in a much shorter style like France's), he had emerald coloured eyes that were brightened by mischievousness. Whilst both had characteristics from both France and England, they both carried themselves very differently. Though neither were a part of the UK, much like the Isle of Man, they were all very close.

"I'm not very sure Jeánne. I haven't personally spoken to him since our last meeting since we have both been very busy."

Jersey's rougher tenor entered the discussion.

"Mère, if he doesn't come then we should call him, you know, just to wish him 'Merry Christmas'."

England smiled at his Anglo-French children before grinning at the young male.

"Alright then, George, I suppose we can spare a phone call for that Frog."

Everyone began to laugh. Shetland (who had a slight resemblance to Norway since he was a part of his House for around six hundred years but without the curl, with darker hair, a cheerier disposition and brighter azure eyes) turned to look at England as well. Though no one could accurately describe him as 'handsome', he certainly was very 'pretty' and his jovial manner, despite the cold weather on his island, all served to make him very easy to get along with.

"Will we be havin' any haggis wi' th' Christmas dinner Uncle Arthur?"

England blanched.

"No, Haldor, we won't as it's not really something you eat at Christmas is it?"

Orkney snorted in disgust. His dark brown, lightly curled hair, rough but defined features and pea green eyes all served to make him a handsome young man. Though he looked a lot more like Scotland than his brother Shetland, he still had slight resemblance to Norway. One thing that all the new arrivals had in common, except for Guernsey, Inner Hebrides and the Isle of Man, was that they all had the infamous 'Kirkland Brows' and another thing that united all of them was that they all had wicked tempers when successfully provoked, though some were more easily provoked than others.

"Ah honestly dornt see what everyone's problem wi' haggis is!"

Scotland grinned at his charge.

"Nice one, Hákon! At least mah lot have git thir heads oan straight!"

Jersey grinned maliciously at his Uncle and a small bout of French tinted his accent.

"Well obviously you do not 'ave zee same definition of 'straight' as zee rest of us!"

At that moment another pair of twins decided to enter the fray. The Inner and Outer Hebrides (or alternatively Freya-Mairead and Tormod) were every bit as hot-headed as their 'father' but were capable of great feats of aloofness reminiscent of Norway. Inner Hebrides was just as cheerful as Shetland and had long, silky barely red and barely curly hair that was more of an earthy shade than Ireland's but showed history of temporary Irish rule over her Islands. Outer Hebrides was the more quiet of the two but still just as energetic as his twin with short, dirty blonde hair. Both teens had blue eyes and at seventeen they both were the same age as Jersey and Guernsey and a year younger than Shetland and Orkney. For once, Outer decided to play a more aggressive role in the debate rather than remain passive. A smirk lit up his strongly defined face.

"Go back tae eatin' snails from me garden!"

England shook his head as group began to mock each others' foods but was broken out of his head shaking by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find a very elegantly dressed woman whose auburn coloured hair cascaded in ripples to her shapely hips even though it was usually tied up in a bun of some sort or was complexly braided. Though she was older than him at thirty, her face and grass-green eyes held a youthful gleam and her smile was kind and sincere. England had to admit on occasion that though no woman could compare to his mother's beauty, this woman came very close; she was stunning. This was his sister, the Isle of Man or simply 'Mann' for short.

"It's interesting how your children fight Scotland's children as you both fight each other."

England smiled happily at his sister and chuckled.

"I suppose that that's true, Eleanor. Come, sit with me a while. You've been up for a good bloody while am I right?"

"I think I will take you up on that offer love, I'm getting old you see!"

"Oh sod off! You're only thirty!"

"It's all well and good for you my dear; you're only twenty-three!"

Both were laughing happily until Canada's distressed voice sounded through the room. It was Christmas but instead of having a good time with the family he had travelled hundreds of miles to see, he was being held up by his twin. It honestly didn't help that America was practically yelling down the phone at him.

"Yes, yes Alfred. Wait...No it's not that eh...I can't impose like that! What kind of person do you think I am eh? Right...Well it's up to _you_ to ask then isn't it?"

"Oi Matta, is that divit still botherin' ye oan th' phoone?"

Canada turned round at the sound of his Scottish uncle addressing him. He sighed silently and nodded his head in exasperation.

"Tell that bloody Yank to just fucking fuck off!"

Everyone jumped slightly at the sound of Australia's tenor echoing strongly around the room despite his sleepiness. He inhabited a world where exhaustion and alertness seemed to be one in the same as he cuddled an equally sleepy New Zealand to his chest on the second two-seater sofa in the living room. Honestly, different time-zones were a bitch especially for nations and Australia felt that he wasn't willing to put up with anyone disturbing his family's Christmas. Everyone had truthfully forgotten about the two of them for a while since they thought that the two of them were sleeping.

"Ah think Ozzy's reit, pass that phoone tae me."

Though Canada was worried about what Scotland would say, especially since America was ranting about what Australia had said so loudly that the Aussie could actually hear him thus directly provoked him into sending a multitude of cusses his way, he still passed the phone over. No matter how much he loved his brother he didn't want to spend the morning arguing with him. Every member of the family that was present in the living room was terribly eager to see how Scotland would react to the much younger man down the other end of the line.

"Awrite...Yoo ken _exactly_ whoo thes is...Oh, yeah, 'Helloo tae ye tae' ye wee brat! Whit dae ye want?"

There was a pause but it was disrupted by Scotland's laughter.

"Haha at leest ye can say yoo've gotten a tad funnier ower th' years...Well tae me it was a joke coz ye thirs just _no__ way_ that yoour allowed inside mah feckin' hoouse!"

Scotland looked to his family briefly and gave them an annoyed look. He mouthed that America just wouldn't shut up and then returned to the phone call with a smirk.

"Why dornt ye repeat yerself withoout sooundin' like an arse? Hmm...Is that soo ye loon? Oh aye, Ah ken that Ah am auld but Ah also ken that ye shoods still be in nappies waitin' tae be nursed!...What dae ye mean 'Oh it's nae yer hoouse sae feck off?' Ah am apart av the United Kingdom ye bloody prat an' unless Ah git mah independence thes hoouse is also under mah feckin' name!"

The whole living room tried and failed to contain their giggles.

"By noow Ah woods think that ye woods kin the structure av mah feckin' family...Me, technically yer uncle? Aye that may be so but dornt be stupid boy, that auld story still willnae git ye intae mah hoouse...Did ye pure jist ask me again why Ah have th' reit tae keep ye oout uv mah hoouse?"

Scotland sighed in exasperation.

"Have ye _ever _thought tha' it_** might**_ be becos_ AH'M FECKIN' MARRIED TAE __**F**__**OUR**__ OTHER NATIONS AN' WE MAKE UP A BLOODY __**KINGDOM **__YE ASSHOLE! AN' THAT __**FUNNILY ENOOUGH **__WE ALL SHARE TH' __**SAME**__ HOOUSE!_? Thus!~ Ah think Ah have the reit tae exercise mah authority here..."

America must have said something because Scotland's face pulled into a cruel smirk.

"Well it's better than ye cos Ah doubt that yoou have ever had a lay in yer life...Only that many? Oh laddie that's shameful...I dornt care if yer th' world's last super power! Ye coods be anyoone in th' feckin' warld an' Ah woodnae care...Yoo ken what I'll pass ye tae Englain cos yer hopeless...No he's not called 'Britain' ye arse hole..."

Scotland passed the phone over to an anxious England, but not without one last remark.

"Ah'm surprised soome av th' best Universities in th' waarld are in yer fecking coountry coz yer a complete fecking eejit!"

After a long conversation with America down the phone that consisting of America ranting about Scotland and then what he actually wanted in the first place, England put down the phone quite solemnly.

"What did that boy want Brawd?"

England looked up at his twin and Ireland who were poking their heads into the living room to see what all the commotion was about. The blonde chuckled slightly.

"Well to him it's nothing much apparently, but for us...well...Do you all remember the plans we have all been making for Alfred and his boss to visit us next year along with his wife and...Well...whoever else they all decide to bring. According to him the dates are set for around next year May."

The whole family took in the information with varying degrees of emotion. Scotland grunted in annoyance as he was not looking forward to entertaining the brat for however long. Wales and North didn't seem to mind and England just shrugged and smiled.

"I suppose that we'll all be quite busy. Isn't he visiting you first Patrick?"

Ireland perked up at the sound of his human name.

"Oh aye. As soon as 'e's done wi' me gaff he'll be straight aff ter yers Oi imagine. Yer man wus annoyin' me de other day sayin', 'Oh me boss 'as Oirish ancestry! As if Oi personally care!"

Everyone in the room laughed until England revealed some news.

"We'll be having a few meetings with Alfred and his boss in the next few weeks to sort things out."

"Oh weel that's feckin' _brilliant_. Why is he comin' tae oour Hoouse again? Ah dornt pure recaall thaur bein' a special event goin' oan..."

At that England looked distinctly uncomfortable. He coughed into his hand awkwardly and his cheeks were highlighted with a dusting of pink. He ran a nervous hand through his wheat-coloured hair. The _whole _family became anxious to hear the answer that was making England so distinctly uncomfortable.

"Erm...well...it's to celebrate the United Kingdom's...erm...well...our '_special relationship_' with the United States of America..."

If the atmosphere wasn't awkward before then it certainly was at that moment. The first to try and break the silence was little New Zealand.

"But Māmā...What's that supposed to mean? I know you and America have been allied for about a century but that's hardly very long since, well, before that erm...you weren't on the most _magnificent _of terms..."

Though Ireland looked as if he was fuming, Wales looked like he was highly annoyed and North snorted in uncharacteristic disdain, they all remained more or less silent. Scotland however raised his voice in anger.

"_Whit th' feck_? A _'special relationship'_? Whoo dooes that _bastard_ think he is? '_Special relationship_' my feckin' arse! "** (4)**

Canada tried to placate his uncle.

"Please calm down Uncle. I'm sure it's not as bad as it sounds and it's supposed to be a time for celebration eh..."

Australia tried to help his 'brother' also.

"S'alright Uncle! I'm sure it's not as bad as it sounds..."

"I cannae calm doown Matta and it _is_ as bad as it soounds Bruce because Ah personally see naethin' worth celebratin'! Th' only '_special relationship_' Ah see is between America an' Englain an' that relationship is _rocky_ _at best_. Let's not forgit that bampot wanted tae go tae war wi' all of us befoore the First Warld War. Ye lot-"

Scotland gestured to the Commonwealth nations, Islands and the Crown Dependencies.

"-Have bin there fur us _personally_ more than that wee brat has. Ah _knoow _he's really helped us in th' past but now he's made us intae feckin' lap dogs an' Ah dornt see anythin' special in that!"

England looked rather surprised.

"I thought you didn't mind Alfred?"

"Swatch, personally Ah dornt really mind his people an' his current boss is quite braw but Ah jist dornt like th' personification uv their damn coontry! Like Ah sed...tis more uv a personal thing..."

Even though he didn't express everything he was thinking into words it was clear that Scotland was furious. England supposed that it was because his brothers had always preferred Canada to the United States but the other nations all knew that it wasn't only that. It was what that boy had done to England. After the Revolutionary War, England was completely destroyed. Yet, for all of England's faults that he criticised him for, like all nations he had done so many things people would rather not mention. America was important to the world but he personally needed to learn that arrogance was not a suitable emotion for a 21st century nation to have. Though he was a dominant world power, he often forgot that that was a _privilege_, not a right, and that could disappear in the blink of an eye. Scotland simply thought that America was young and brash, always shouting that he was the world's 'hero' when that wasn't really true for _any _nation.

Despite the tense subject, the debate continued throughout the rest of the afternoon until dinner was absolutely necessary.

"Muuuuuuum!~ I didn't come all this way to be starved! At this rate I'd even eat your food!"

"Belt up Bruce!"

"Don't worry! Patrick and I will make dinner!~"

Ireland snapped his head round to glare at Wales venomously.

"An' whaen did Oi give me feckin' consent ter do dis dinner?"

"Now silly!~"

* * *

><p>Christmas day was always an...<em>interesting <em>affair for the UK, Irish and Commonwealth family. Depending on personal circumstance things could be very different. All of them had spent Christmases in disease-ridden, filthy trenches, in their own houses, in other nations' houses, at sea, in a tree house, in a barn, with the Queen, with a cow named Betty and in a jail cell just to name a few. For them it was a blessing that their lives were more stable, in a way, that what they used to be.

Wales, Ireland, Mann and Canada had gotten up early to prepare the turkey, peel the potatoes, bake some cakes as well as prepare various other things needed for the dinner. England was setting up the table. North, Orkney and Shetland were lighting a fire, Inner and Outer were sweeping the floor, New Zealand and Australia were getting presents under the tree and Scotland was making a breakfast that was later eaten with much apprehension until it was discovered that it was actually quite good. Jersey and Guernsey helped Scotland with the breakfast and then went on to help their brothers and sisters with their various tasks. All of the family members were washed and dressed in jogging bottoms and T-shirts, a reflection of the relaxed atmosphere, and the girls had their hair tied back. Though the presents were laid out, it was customary in their family to not open them until after breakfast. The T.V. was on and the soft voices that seemed to escape it drifted all around the first floor of the house. Nothing particularly good was on just yet however. The phone suddenly began to ring, most likely the first in a few calls, and England, North, Guernsey, Mann or Outer were in charge of picking up the phone unless drunk. _Always. _England rushed to pick it up.

"Yes hello?...Ah! Merry Christmas to you as well Lukas! How are you?...Well we're all fine over here-"

"He's lyin' Norgie! That Sassenach's lyin'! He's gonnae cook an' kill us all!" **(5)**

"Who fucking asked you! Piss off!"

Norway could be heard chuckling on the other end of the line and he could also be heard rebuking a very excited Denmark. It seemed as if the entire Nordic family and Sealand were at Norway's house.

"I know exactly what you mean Lukas...Thank God someone understands what I'm going through!"

Wales' perfect tenor sounded from the kitchen.

"Well that's surprising! You're agreeing with someone, but then again it is Norway. What are you agreeing on Brawd?"

England chose to forget the first part of Wales' comment.

"Oh, nothing much. We're just agreeing on the fact that Scotland and Denmark are very much alike. They are both stupid, both noisy and both unavoidably _there_."

Scotland 'hmph-'ed and decided that clearing the table of the well-eaten breakfast in order for everyone to open their presents in peace was much better than listening to England and Norway whine about the world.

Though the House of the United Kingdom was usually quite noisy, all of its inhabitants were quite worried about how quiet the house became after everyone had spoken to the Nordics and Sealand on the phone. None of them wanted to jinx it because peace was so very _rare _in their House but it seemed as if God had jinxed it anyways as soon as they heard the door bell ring and a thick French accent call from outside.

"Open up mes amis, c'est moi! Joyeux Noël!"

Jersey, Guernsey and Canada shouted and laughed with joy.

"Mère, Mère! C'est Papá!"

Both England and Wales, who had entered the living room at that moment, glared scathingly at Scotland and hissed at him.

"**You fucking invited the frog didn't you?**"

Scotland however looked confused at his friend's arrival and scared of the twins' fury.

"Nae, Ah swear Ah didne invite him over taeday!"

He decided to let his friend in despite his brothers' annoyance at the situation. With a great flourish and unnecessary noise, France entered the warm living room with many different sized gift bags on his arms. His three children swamped him almost immediately, taking his bags and giving him hugs and kisses. The Frenchman seemed genuinely happy to see England.

"Bonjour Angleterre! eet haz been a while, oui?"

"Yes, I supposed it has. I just wished it was a while longer!"

"_Oh mon amour!_ You _wound_ me!"

"Who the fuck is your 'amour'! I shall now take it upon myself to carry on!"

As much as England wanted to say he loathed the Frenchman, he was actually quite happy to see him. He did, after all, consider the older man a dear friend despite their rocky history. He couldn't find it in his heart to think otherwise. The man practically raised him whilst under Rome's house and for a period of time they both had the same or very closely related/allied bosses. He was family and despite everything England _really did_ care about him. He just didn't like to make a big show to it.

"Oh Arthur! If you are thees sour on Christmas day zen what are you like zee rest of zee year? Oh, wait...you are exactly zee same!"

Scotland couldn't help but cackle along with his best friend but he decided that it would be best to find out why France was even in their house. When asked, France's eyes seemed to light up.

"Ohh I waz feeling a bit lonely in my 'ouse since Antonio eez spending Christmas wiz Romano and some of 'is family, Gil is spending time wiz Russia and I thought zat it would be nice to visit all of you and bring your gifts as well!"

Both England and Wales seemed to deflate, glancing at each other and holding the gaze they had a silent conversation. They sighed and nodded at the same time.

"**Fine, Frog, you can stay."**

"Merry Christmas and thank you for the gifts but-"

"-You didn't have to go through all that trouble you know..."

France stared at the twins wide eyed and then looked at Scotland.

"Zat never grows old..."

"Try livin' wi' that every single day. It's uncanny."

"Ah, 'tis yer Francis. Naw wonder me wee Art'ur wus shoutin' so loudly an' wee Cari looks loike 'is garden av daffodils 'as been replace wi' fake ones."

Everyone turned around to see Ireland enter the living room. Pleasantries between the nations were exchanged and drinks were brought out. None of them cared that it was still only about mid-day. France began to fill his 'family' in on his year and by the time they had all finished the discussion, watched the Queen's speech, received a call from the Queen herself, then received call from at least ten other nations including Prussia and had gotten through a box of beer and a bottle of wine it was around five in the afternoon. Dinner was well on its way to being ready in less than half an hour and so the family took this time to open all their presents.

Though a variety of presents were given, there were some that really stood out and touched each individual member. For them gifts did not really matter. As nations they were simply thankful that they were all safe, well and together but it was evident that a lot of thought went into some of the gifts and there were even some tears shed.

North was touched when he received a gold and solid silver 'Claddagh' Celtic knot bracelet with two emeralds from Ireland. It was a physical symbol of all they had been through and how they managed to pull through. It was a symbol of loyalty, tradition and love. It really suited him as well and he felt he would never need another bracelet again.

If North was touched by his present then Ireland was beside himself with his. He had a tough time trying to keep the tears at bay. His gift wasn't new by any means. In fact it was around a century and a half old. However he hadn't seen it for a long, long time. It was an oil painting that he had thrown out of his House in rage when he realised that North really didn't want to leave the UK and live with him. The painting depicted a small pocket of meadow within one of his oldest forest that trailed off to join with bank of sand that disappeared into a clear, sparkling pond. The painting was a fine one; no detail was forgotten no matter how small, the colours captured the radiant glow of the sun streaming through the trees, the vivid hues of the daisies, bluebells and other wildflowers and the thick green grass and the earthy tones of the river bank and forest floor. The quality and the accuracy could have put some of the world's greatest painters to shame. It had actually been painted by North as a gift to Ireland when he was much younger, perhaps around 13 in human years. Ireland could remember England helping the youngster make numerous trips to that forest only to spend hours teaching him how to paint. Ireland thought that it was lost forever but he was so happy that it wasn't the case. He had been almost consumed by the guilt he felt because he threw away something so precious so carelessly.

Scotland was thoroughly surprised when he opened a rather large package from all four of his brothers, sister and their charges and found a complete formal kilt outfit. He had been meaning to get one for months but had never really got round to it. The materials were fine and strong and the quality undeniable. What Scotland found most touching was that his brothers and sister had got him a kilt with a particular tartan pattern or 'sett'. They had given him a kilt that was decorated with the sett that the Island brothers often affectionately called 'The Kirkland Clan' sett. It was a sett that all the family used if they were wearing kilts as it was their family tartan. Scotland couldn't help but smile tenderly because it was moments such as this that reminded him that all his siblings still looked up to him in their own way. He was reminded that, despite matter had happened between them in the past, he still had their respect not only as a nation, but as their brother too. As the person who had given all of them their surname (or part of it), who tried to raise them as best he could when they were toddlers and who tried his best to support himself and his family in their home called the British Isles and later the world.

North, Guernsey, Jersey, Orkney, Shetland, Inner, Outer, Canada, Australia and New Zealand couldn't help but flush and chuckle with unadulterated joy when they opened their neatly wrapped parcels from England, Mann and Wales and found hand-made, knitted jumpers with their flags or a picture of their land on the front and their names on the back. Due to their praise and thanks all three nations blushed but whilst Wales and Mann cheerfully and comfortably accepted the thanks, England, who was never quite sure how to accept gratitude, said 'you're welcome' in an embarrassed, gruff voice. Despite this, everyone could see how proud the siblings were of their work and how relieved they were that the children liked them. All of the teens really appreciated the time and effort they had made since they knew they must have needed bucket loads to make so many jumpers with such care and accuracy. It helped that they all genuinely liked the jumpers.

Wales squealed with delight when New Zealand and Australia went outside briefly and came back in with two sheep, a healthy ewe and ram. But these were not just any sheep. They were highly coveted Boreray sheep and they were the rarest breed in the United Kingdom. Wales had two on his farm in Wales but he was facing problems because he didn't want to keep on inter-breeding the lambs. He was having issues in acquiring two more of the breed since they were just so _rare_. There were only 300 registered breeding females left. He happily put them away in the warm pen in the spacious back garden.

France smiled sincerely when he opened up England's gift to him and found two bottles of deep burgundy coloured wines that he had made himself. He wasn't at all worried that it was _England_ of all nations that had made him the wine because he knew as well as any other nation that although England couldn't cook for the life of him, he could make some awesome drinks. He knew how hard it must have been and how much work the younger man must have put in and thus he knew that they would certainly be the best wines that he had ever tasted. He was touched because he was surprised that England had even gotten him anything anyway. Admittedly England _always _got him something but he was still waiting for the day when England would simply not get him anything. He was honestly very happy to have the grumpy Englishman as a friend.

In return, France had gotten England a new acoustic guitar, remembering that the younger man had briefly told him that though he needed a new one because it was becoming too fragile to play. The blonde had told him that he felt that he couldn't possibly spend any money on himself if it wasn't an absolute necessity because he had his people and his family to look after. France remembered the look of stubbornness on the Englishman's face and his feelings of guilt that he wasn't doing a good enough job. He could also remember England becoming quite disheartened at the thought that he wouldn't be able to play any more songs quietly for some time. England smiled after getting over his initial shock- France really _did _listen to him even though it was something so trivial.

England was a tad worried about what Scotland had gotten him for Christmas. He looked towards the older man but Scotland blushed slightly and turned his face away. England's hands began to slowly and delicately remove the paper from the box-shaped gift and he came to realise that, for once, Scotland's wrapping seemed to have some sort of rhyme and reason to it and it seemed to be neater than usual. When he had finished opening the gift his cheeks went bright red and he suddenly felt very bashful under the gaze of his entire family.

In the box we as a hand-made photo frame made from silver. He forgot that Scotland was a very gifted silversmith as well as a blacksmith and carpenter. He was highly skilled at many crafts in fact. Roses and thistles (their national flowers) were sculpted as a border on the bottom and right sides of the frame. To England, though they were just silver, they looked so real that he felt that if he were to run his fingers over the designs (which he later did) the thorns on the flowers would feel sharp and the rose petals smooth. On the top and left hand sides were intricately carved Celtic designs. They were symbols of strong ties and eternity. A picture of both himself and Scotland was placed inside. He remembered the fond memories of that photo. It was a hot summer's day and so they all decided to go outside to the forest and the river to enjoy the weather. He couldn't remember what happened but the picture was taken when both he and Scotland were laughing together whilst the older man spun him around in his arms. The sun bounced wildly off their hair and eyes and anyone could see that they were really happy.

That wasn't all however. The frame was mounted upon a piece of wood that served as a base and from its two stray branches Scotland had carved out a lion and Unicorn; both their national animals. On the left side of the frame, again on the base there was a carved indent in the wood; a circular one. On it rested a traditional Scottish quaich made out of pure silver. England had never seen something so finely made in his life. When Ireland, France, Orkney and Shetland looked at it their eyes widened and they snapped their heads round to look at their eldest brother and friend whose face was such a deep shade of red it would have put one of England's roses to complete shame. The man's eyes were screaming with frustration at himself and at England. **(6)**

England carefully took the quaich in his hands and marveled at his brother's talent brought to existence. His abilities seemed to have become more amazing since he last remembered and the man had truly outdone himself. Two entwined hearts surmounted by a crown featured in the center of the traditional Scottish cup. There was an outer foliate band surrounding the hearts followed by an inscription in Scottish Gaelic. More Celtic interlace designs surrounded the inscription and covered the handles. However, as much as England loved the gift he couldn't help but wonder about the..._intentions _for such a..._romantic _gift. Though this type of quaich was often used to provide protection from bad faeries and evil spirits, he did not believe that that was the gift's purpose. This kind of quaich, from what he understood, was one that was exchanged between lovers. Even the inscription slapped England in the face by how loving it sounded. It translated to, "Of Earthly Joys, Thou Art My Choice." However it could just be a token of family ties. England's heart began to race as he looked at Scotland. The red-head spoke roughly.

"Tae protect yer from all them faeries...ye knoow...th' wee nasty ones..."

That seemed to confirm it. It was probably just a brotherly thing. England chose to put the quaich back in its proper place on the metre long structure to go up and hug his brother whilst the rest of the family went closer to have a closer look. Scotland looked surprised for while before he wrapped his arms tightly around the blonde and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Thank you...It must have-"

England had to swallow when he felt the man's lips against his head.

"-it must have taken you such a long time. It's beautiful...it's so, so beautiful..."

Scotland's eyes softened. He longed to express how his creation could never be as beautiful as England. A part of him wished that the feelings of love would leave him. His heart was finding it harder and harder to support the sheer weight of his numerous feelings. After a thousand or so years he was beginning to reach breaking point. Wales then made a God-blessed announcement.

"Guess what guys! DINNER'S READY!"

The cacophony of noise that irrupted from the entire family was a joyful racket to England's ears. They all ate loads only to rest and recuperate in time for more. Australia seemed to be able to eat his weight's worth in Christmas dinner much to everyone's delight and New Zealand plundered the profiteroles with the enthusiasm of a Viking. Scotland and Ireland seemed to forget any biological limitations to their alcohol consumption. By the end of the night, traditional folk music was being played and songs of happiness and celebration were sung at the tops of everyone's voices. England looked around and couldn't help but wish that they could remain this happy forever.

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><p>By the time everyone had gotten to bed it was already getting close to three or four in the morning. England still wasn't in bed however as he had left his phone downstairs and thought it best to retrieve it. He was surprised by the sight of a familiar man standing outside on the porch of the back garden. England couldn't help but think the man was mad- it was below freezing outside! He walked over to the man quietly, glad that he had fluffy slippers and a thick jumper on, and placed a small hand on his shoulder. The red-head must have really not been paying any attention for he snapped his head up and grabbed the arm tightly.<p>

"Ow, ow...Alas it's me!"

Said man visibly reddened and let go of the hand.

"Ah'm so, so sorry! I jist...I suppose I jist wasnae payin' attention."

England smiled.

"It's alright. Why don't you go to bed? I mean...it's very late or early considering your viewpoint..."

The older man chuckled with mirth.

"Well...Ah didnae feel like goin' jist yet...even if Ah'm really drunk..."

"If that's the case...is it alright if I...keep a fellow drunkard company?"

England laughed outright when the Scotsman muffled a gruff 'yes' and 'Ah'm not a feckin' drunkard' in response. They spent the next few minutes talking about random things like how nice the sky looked lit up with thousands of stars and how if it stayed out in the cold they would be eating snow in the morning. They began cracking awful jokes and the sounds of their laughter echoed through their surroundings. They stopped when Scotland looked up and stared in a mixture of embarrassment and horror at what was above their heads. When England followed the man's gaze, he cursed France to the deepest levels of hell and planned for a full-scale invasion.

Above them was a sprig of mistletoe. Though it looked innocent enough and its berries glowed from the low-level light from inside, everything it stood for seemed to scream otherwise. Why kiss someone under the mistletoe when you could kiss them at any other time of the year in any other situation? The situation between the two men became awkward as their faces flushed with colour. England began to bite his bottom lip and Scotland's heart began to race faster.

"Errmm..well..."

Scotland scratched the back of his neck.

"Well...we coods if ye want...Ah'm nae sayin' we haftae...erm..."

The smaller man giggled quietly despite the tension that permeated the atmosphere.

"Tis very sweet when ye giggle like that..."

England felt so embarrassed and he moved his hand upwards to hide his reddened face. He wanted the man badly but he still wasn't sure about the other's feelings towards him. The way he acted could mean any number of things but the way he looked at him now his eyes were so desperately hopeful and so desperately loving that he couldn't help but feel that there was something more between them. When large hands moved his hand and cupped his cheeks he snapped out of his thoughts.

"Yoou alright there wee oone? We honestly dornt haftae if ye dornt want tae"

England looked up at the man he couldn't help but adore and spoke in earnest.

"I...I want...to kiss you...it's tradition...but I want to..."

The older man visibly gulped. His shaking hands rubbed the heated skin gently with his thumbs to reassure the other. He was so happy that the younger man actually wanted this to happen and wasn't going along with it for tradition's sake. He looked into those shining eyes and saw vast English fields spread out before him. As he lowered his head they became liquid magic. The blonde tilted his head up and as their noses touched their breathing got heavier and shakier. Tensions built up to sporadic levels as both men smiled gently. Their eyes closed and their lips finally met.

It was a very brief and very sweet kiss at first that seemed to test the waters however they both went further and further. The hairs on the backs of their necks and on their arms stood on end. Lightning shot through their veins and annihilated any rational thinking. Scotland slowly began to push England to lean on the railings on the porch. England's arms had wound themselves around the taller man's neck. They both moaned gently when tongues began to dance innocently. They remained that way until the need for air overruled the need for the taste of each other's mouths and the feel of the other's lips.

A significant and pregnant paused passed between them where they weren't sure what the future would hold for either of them. They did know one thing even if they couldn't share their thoughts however. Something had changed irrevocably between them forever. Something had been set in motion without any signs of ever stopping or diminishing. England smirked up at the handsome man before him.

"Someone's very..._eager..._"

Scotland snorted with laughter but still held England's gaze with heavy eyes.

"Well...Ah coods easily say th' same thin' aboout yoou..."

The younger man moved forward and embraced the older, laying his head against the broad chest. He could hear Scotland's heart beating rapidly under the expanse of flesh and muscle and he found it very soothing.

"Well...I did say...that I wanted to kiss you..."

Scotland's face reddened and questions were buzzing through his sleep-deprived head.

"Why's that lad?"

England began to think and found that he simply couldn't answer that question just yet because there was no singular reason. He loved and wanted the man; that much he knew. He knew that every time he laughed cheerfully it made the butterflies in his stomach flutter and he wanted to be there to share his laughter. He wanted to live another thousand years with the red head by his side and, if the end should come for him, he wanted no hard feelings between the two of them. He wanted the man to know he was so very loved. But he knew it would never be an exclusive love. He would never be the only man for Scotland and Scotland would never be the only man for him. They were married to two others and Ireland was married to them as well once upon a time. They had other common lovers as well such as France. He couldn't afford to be so selfish, not when they were both on such good terms. He felt that he didn't deserve such selfishness after all he had done to Scotland.

"I...I don't know..."

Though Scotland was a tad disappointed with the response he dropped the subject, pleased with the night's events as they were. He could feel his eyes grow heavy with fatigue and England became weighted in his arms. The smaller man tugged at his sleeve gently. When he looked down the man was flushed and he spoke with a slight stutter.

"Errm...I'm really bloody t-tired...erm...I think you are too b-but I just thought..."

Scotland chuckled and helped England get his words out.

"Go oan laddie...Ah won't judge...or laugh..."

England sighed.

"Then..."

England closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

"...Sleep in my room tonight...please..."

Scotland's sleepiness evaporated and then condensed into alertness as his whole face, ears and neck were set alight. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He was nervous. He knew nothing would happen between himself and England but he was still anxious about sharing a bed with him after so many years.

"...S-sure...It's closer than mah room anyways...but...Ah'd be glad tae..."

England smiled and released the older man whilst taking his hand and leading him through the house to get to his room. Scotland held on to the smaller hand loosely, occasionally rubbing the younger man's knuckles with a strange delicacy. He began to feel more and more nervous when England opened his bedroom door and tugged him inside. England's soft voice broke the silence.

"Which side of the bed would you like?"

Scotland had to clear his throat to even get a word out.

"Ah his dornt mind much but Ah suppose Ah'll go fer th' left side..."

"You always did like sleeping near windows..."

They both moved to get into the bed and get comfortable. Scotland didn't really know where to put his hands or his legs but his problem was solved when England shyly made his way over to the older man, entwined their legs and brought Scotland's right arm over his waist. He cuddled into the strong chest with a blissful sigh. Scotland's entire expression went from slightly shocked to soft and loving in a matter of seconds as he tightened his hold on the younger man. He shuddered when he felt a kiss being pressed to his jaw line and a nose nuzzling against the skin of his neck.

"Goodnight Alas..."

Scotland returned the affection with a soft kiss to England's head.

"G'night Arthur..."

With that both men became completely lax as the need for sleep overwhelmed the both of them. However they both felt that this was one of the best Christmases they had ever shared and when New Zealand and Australia peaked into the room the following morning to see where they both where, they couldn't help but smile and think it best to let their mother and their uncle share another couple of hours of peace together.

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><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! And sorry I just realised that there are quite a few new characters! Reviews and constructive criticisms are all welcome!<strong>

**Notes: **

**(1) Heathrow Airport is a major (if not _the _major) airport in London. **

**(2) Yeah apparently...I read it in a school text book once...**

**(3) New OCs**

**Bruce Kirkland = Australia (Bruce is an English name meaning 'From the town of Bruis)  
><strong>

**Noah Kirkland = New Zealand (Noah means 'Rest' or 'Peace')  
><strong>

**Jeánne Kirkland-Bonnefoy = The Bailiwick of Guernsey (Jeánne is a French name meaning 'God is Gracious')**

**George Kirkland-Bonnefoy = The Bailiwick of Jersey (George originates from Greek and means 'Farmer')**

**Eleanor Kirkland = The Isle of Mann (Eleanor originates from Greek and has no known meaning)**

**These three are Crown Dependencies which basically means that though they are not a part of the UK and they are pretty much independent, the UK is responsible for their defense and foreign representation. Jersey and Guernsey are also populated by the French and so Francis is their Daddy :)**

**Haldor Kirkland-Bondevik = The Shetland Islands (Haldor means 'Thor's Rock' with Thor being a predominant God in Norse mythology).**

**Hákon Kirkland-Bondevik = The Orkney Islands (Hákon is an Old Norse name meaning 'High Son' and it was the name of seven Norwegian kings)**

**Freya-Mairead Kirkland = The Inner Hebrides (Freya means 'Lady' and Mairead means 'Pearl')**

**Tormud Kirkland = The Outer Hebrides (Tormud means 'Thor's Courage/Mind)**

**Though all these Islands are now a part of Scotland, at various points were ruled by Norway (and/or in the case of the Inner Hebrides Ireland).**

**(4)- Again, I'm not country bashing. I think the USA is alright :) But when this 'Special Relationship' was discussed in my class and with my friends some saw it as a celebration and some saw it as a 'pile of turd' :/ I personally think that in the last century the USA has helped the UK a great deal but admittedly before that relations between the two countries were bordering on awful. Some people people believe that the UK is becoming too dependent on the USA but I dunno... **

**Also, in my head canon, I can't see how Scotland and America can get on for more than a couple of minutes...**

**(5) I'm sure as you've already guessed, Lukas is Norway**

_**Sassenach**_** is a word used to designate an Englishman and it's mainly used by the Scots but it's also used by the Irish or very_ very_ rarely the Welsh. **

** (6) A quaich is a Scottish drinking cup that has a shallow bowl and two or three flat handles.**** They're given for a variety of reasons e.g. for marriage, new babies, friendships etc.**

**This is the quaich that I described with some variations. **

**http: /www (dot) scotsconnection (dot) com/product (dot) asp?P_ID=1578&strPageHistory=related**


	6. A Thousand Years Of love

**OMG! Four reviews in less than a day and some favourites and hits to boot! You lot are amazing! 'Cos I didn't update earlier and the reviews all made me smile and laugh, I decided to post this a day or two earlier! THANK YOU GUYS! xxx**

**Warnings: Happy times ahead for Scotland x England...**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. I own nada but my OCs and plot!**

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><p>Scotland was heartbroken.<p>

It was July the 15th and he was sitting at his breakfast table in one of his most remote Scottish homes in the Shetland Islands. He had his head in his hands and he was crying. He was really of tipsy, his head was pounding, he couldn't see straight for the life of him and he was exhausted. Scotland couldn't even remember the last time he had cried so hard for the life of him.

He was crying at his breakfast table because of nothing other than acute heartache. If he had known loving someone so completely only to have your hopes dashed before you could even try was going to hurt so much, he would have never fallen so hard. He never would have given in to his feelings and kissed England under the mistletoe at Christmas and he would have stayed away.

Eleven days before hand it was July the 4th. Scotland _knew _how hard that day was for Arthur. He understood how hard it was for his younger brother to be reminded of his loss every, single bloody year whilst America seemed to always rub it his face. It was a known fact that nations could never have children the natural way, the _human _way. Yet America was the closest thing to a son Arthur had at the time and he threw that love back in his face. Arthur knew America wanted independence, that wasn't the actual problem. The problem was the _way _he got his independence, by declaring war on Arthur, blaming him for absolutely everything, and then leaving him to rot in the mud. _That's _what hurt the man. Yes Arthur gained colonies like Canada, Australia and New Zealand and though he loved them more than the air he breathed, the pain of America leaving him plagued those relationships somewhat. Love them as his might, Arthur was always worried sick that they would leave him too.

Scotland thought that, for once, he would actually check on his younger brother to make sure he was OK, to prove to him that he really _did _care. Every year on that day, Arthur would drink himself stupid and it was getting to the point where it was impossible to deal with him. So, with that in mind, he traveled all the way to the House of the United Kingdom from his estate in his capital of Edinburgh. Surprise, surprise when he got there only to find that America had gotten there before him and that he was doing a perfectly _fine _job of comforting his brother. Well, if comfort could be described as having your tongue shoved down someone else's throat.

Scotland felt sick when he saw that. He felt his stomach drop fifty feet and his heart crack like Antarctica's ice sheets. He felt humiliated, hurt and betrayed and by the time England managed to struggle enough to separate himself from America it was too late. It was one thing for England to be romantically involved with nations in their family; Scotland had learnt that he could accept that, but _America_? After everything that that boy had made England personally go through. After all that England still chose _him_ in the end. Scotland then realised that he never stood a chance in the first place. Their history was too bitter, their scars were too deep and he could never give England what America could give him. America had youth and perhaps greater power. He could look after England. He could look after England because he at least had the balls to make a claim. Scotland, for the first time in his entire _existence, _dashed his pride out the window, turned tail and _ran _like his life depended on it. The last thing his could remember seeing was his brother rushing to the doorway...

That was eleven days ago yet Scotland felt that his world was crashing down on him. He knew it was very pathetic of him to stay locked up in his house drinking bottle after bottle of the strongest whiskey available but with so many emotions coursing through his veins he didn't know up from down, left from right. The sadness was beginning to fade away and all he was left with were feelings of bitterness and anger. He probably had over a hundred messages on his phone but he didn't care to read most of them. Out of the ones he did read however, one from Ireland made him particularly angry. It read:

'_Oi Scottie!_

_Answer your fucking phone! I just talked to the little one, you've got it wrong!_

_Asshole! Please answer!_

_Patrick x'_

_'Got it wrong' mah feckin' arse, th' bastard wants Arthur tae!' _Scotland simply switched off his phone after that. He just needed to be alone to sort out his thoughts. However not many of them were positive and Scotland's thoughts were often bitter.

_'Thes may be God punishin' me fur lustin' efter what's supposed tae be mah brother...such a sin disnae merit His blessin' does it?'_

He got up, swaying slightly, wanting nothing more than to get _another_ bottle of whiskey out of the fridge. It didn't matter that he had drunk more than five in that morning alone. He wanted to forget everything for a while, to be consumed in the warm, blissful heat of temporary freedom and feel the buzz of alcohol more strongly in his veins. His plan was disrupted however, when he heard a knock at the door. Scotland let out a deep sigh. Whoever was at the door better not be related to him, a friend of his, an enemy of his or have a stupid reason for bothering him. He ambled over to the door and cursed under his breath when the person kept banging on it. The reason he was even going to open it in the first place was because sometimes the farmer who was his neighbour would come over to say hello and at other times he occasionally had serious problems on his farm he needed help with. Scotland wiped his eyes of tears but he knew there wasn't much of a point- his eye were most likely red anyway.

"Alright, alright! Ah'm comin'!"

He opened the door sluggishly but as soon as he saw who was on the other side, he regretted it almost instantly.

There was England. Panting, huffing and sweating as if he had just run a whole marathon. His cheeks were painted a delicious rose colour. He emerald eyes were glassy and wide, frantic, sad, hurt, remorseful and relieved all at the same time. He was clad in a black coat that enhanced his pale skin and light hair. Scotland blinked to make sure he wasn't finally going mad. He wasn't; England was really there, panting hard on his doorstep.

"Thank God..._Thank God you're here..._*Huff*...I found you...*huff*...I've _finally_ found you!"

Scotland's eyes darkened to a dangerous and venomous green. He resisted the urge to simply slam the door in his brother's face because it would be useless to do so. He knew how determined his brother could be as he had experienced it first hand time and time again. He spoke through gritted teeth

"Pure noo? An' here Ah was thinkin' ye woods be tae... _busy_ whooring yerself tae America tae notice that Ah was missin' and-"

***SMACK!***

Now Scotland expected his comment to invoke some sort of negative reaction in his younger brother but he honestly didn't expect his head to be turned completely to the left or his right cheek to sting like hell. He backhanded him. England had actually _backhanded_ him. It had been a good while since his brother had last hit him. When he looked back at England, his little brother's face was contorted into a mixture of pure rage and acute hurt. His eyes burned savagely with an offended fire and his right hand was still raised as if in warning. Scotland couldn't help but feel trickles of desire seep through into his thoughts from the back of his mind at seeing his brother so aroused with emotion directed solely at him. A rose was indeed a fitting symbol for the man in front of him. He was _beautiful_. He was so_, so beautiful._ However this beauty was only admirable from afar. Those brutal thorns took no prisoners and had no preferences; they could pierce any skin so easily. He always did think that England was attractive when he was angry but that didn't mean he was simply going to accept the hit.

"Yer a fecking lil'-"

"_Don't_...don't you _dare_ say something like that to me again when you haven't even heard my side of the fucking story yet, you piece of shit! Get inside and hear me out, it's shameful to make a scene outside!"

Scotland should have known that his brother would interrupt him but even though England had told his brother to get inside, he instead grabbed the Scotsman by the arm and dragged him inside. Scotland managed to kick the door shut before they got too far away. Both men were incredibly bristled and the atmospheric tension was thick and claustrophobic. This was the first major argument they had had for a while and yet they were both just as fiery as if they argued in such a way every day. Scotland cursed England under his breath when they were in the hallway but he had severely underestimated England's hearing ability. In an adrenaline and anger fueled show of strength, England slammed his brother against the wall and pinned him there. Scotland looked stunned.

"Why don't you fucking talk to me like the man you claim to be instead of insulting me like a prick? I know you're angry at me but I can do absolutely _fuck all _until you tell me why you've got this huge stick up your bleeding arse!"

Scotland chuckled whilst rubbing his sore cheek and, despite the tension, smirked cheekily.

"Ah think that if Ah answered that question Ah woods end up wi' anoother smacked cheek an' Ah dornt need that."

England was exasperated and he hung his head in exhaustion. He knew his brother was angry but he really needed to know why. When he looked back into his brother's eyes however, he was surprised by the agonised expression on his face.

"Ah think we 'ave awreddy established that ye care a lot mair about that _brat_ America than me sae please, git oout av mah hoouse an' leave me alone..."

It sort of _clicked _in England's mind. Scotland was _jealous. _But England still didn't fully understand _why _he was so jealous and bitter. Scotland and he had regarded each other with disdain for most of their history. Admittedly, their relationship had improved drastically over the years but that didn't mean that England was Scotland's favourite nation. Thus England was confused as to why his brother was suddenly getting so jealous. Didn't his brother realize by now that England cared about him so much it almost physically hurt?

"I know that when you...caught us in that position it looked...well it looked _compromising _but-"

Scotland roughly reversed their positions, trapping his brother against the wall and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. The other hand violently collided with the wall, leaving behind a gaping hole and chipped plaster pooled at their feet. It was both a threat and a promise. He was livid and his words were spat out like poison as he glared at the much smaller man caustically. His eyes were alight with envy coloured hate and crimson droplets ran down his hand sluggishly.

"_Compromisin'? _Dornt ye _dare_...what _right _do ye think ye have tae gimmae that bullshit! Noow git th' feck oout av mah hoouse like th' whoor ye are!"

A deep pain and hurt pooled in England's eyes. He was determined to get his truth across though, no matter what he had to do to accomplish that. England met his eyes defiantly.

"No, I'm not leaving until you hear me out you prideful sod!"

Scotland looked _this _close to cracking England's head against the wall however the younger man was just as offended by Scotland's insult as the older man looked just minutes before when he had backhanded him. It was quite infantile of him, but he took Scotland's bait. An evil smirk stretched across his face and a condescending glint laminated his forest green eyes. He spoke with pure vitriol. Scotland thought that he looked just like the pirate or the punk that he used to be. 'Old habits die hard' it seemed.

"And well by_ your _standards I'm definitely not the only 'whore' here am I? You have no right to call me that especially since I heard _no_ complaints last time I took you. You seemed quite happy to scream for more and you were writhing against me like a wanton bitch! _Someone's _not being very honest! _And you call me a fucking whore!"_

Scotland released England's wrists to grasp at the younger man's wheat coloured locks and he smashed England's head backwards into the wall with a sickening thump sound. The blonde man could feel his hair get soaked with warm, thick blood. He felt dizzy and the searing pain in his head blinded him; forcing him to see nothing but stars. He desperately tried to get his brother's hand off his hair. Scotland used his other hand to trap England fully against the wall and began to whisper and hiss lowly in his brother's ear.

"I'll ferget yoo even thought to say th' last part let alone actually say it. An' whit if Ah dornt want tae hear ye? Tell me, what's there tae hear when Ah _saw_ his tongue doown yer feckin' throat! Sae, I'll ask ye again. _Git. Th'. Feck. Oout. Av. Mah. Hoouse_."

England knew things were going to get even more violent pretty quickly, especially because he could smell the whiskey hanging onto his brother's breath and clothes, if he couldn't get his brother to just shut up and _listen _to him. He lashed out at Scotland, catching him again on the lip and splitting it deeply, desperately trying to get the man's vice like grip to loosen and he shouted out.

"_ONLY_ because the stupid git _MISREAD_ my feelings for him and took it upon _HIMSELF_ to fucking kiss me!_ Let me go you thick arsehole_!"

Now Scotland was confused. The older man's pink tongue darted out to lap up the blood that was spilling in torrents down his chin. The sight of England's transfixed gaze seemed to only serve the purpose of both annoying and arousing him further. The man had kissed America and attacked him twice but stared at him with hunger. It was a hunger that was reciprocated hopelessly, even in such a tense and volatile atmosphere. The Scotsman looked into his brother's eyes silently conveying that he wanted England to elaborate. He made it clear, however, that he was far from happy when the hand in the hair tightened. England suppressed a whimper, gritted his teeth and carried on, his eyes remaining fixed on the eldest brother's enraged orbs.

"...He thought...he thought that the reason I get so upset on his...birthday was because...because I _love_ him. But I love him like a father loves his son. He felt so guilty...and so happy. I know he has some feelings for me since we have been so closely allied for a century now. S-so he felt the time was...right to act...the twat kissed me and then you fucking walked in!"

It hit Scotland like a tonne of bricks, so much so that his grip loosened and he recoiled slightly from shock. England was being honest. The thing with England was that, as much as he tried to hide them, his emotions would always show in his eyes. They would swirl like petrol in water and were basically the pages of an open diary. Scotland tried to find any traces of lies in his brother's eyes but he found nothing but pure earnestness. He realized then that he had felt so heartbroken and he rushed out so quickly that he didn't register that England _did _look like he was struggling in the kiss and America _was_ a flaming idiot...Now Ireland's text made sense. A soft sniffling broke him out of his thoughts. He saw a few tears escape England's eyes.

"T-then you went missing and...and I was scared because you looked so hurt and angry and I don't even know why because you won't _talk_ to me! You still don't trust me do you, Alas!"

The sound of England finally snapping was almost audible and he seemed to choke on the feelings that were suddenly raging up at the thought that, yes, his brother would _always _hate him. Up until that point he felt that there was still hope. He could feel, however, the hope leave him and it left him feeling empty and distraught. He lashed out against the older man's grip but Scotland moved to grip his wrists.

"I know... I_ know _that I'm not, and have _never _been, you're most favourite person in the world but I thought we had _finally _managed to move on from some of our old problems. Now I think that you have simply lied to me, leading me to believe that you bloody care and that fucking _hurts _because _I love you so fucking much!"_

Scotland felt his heartbeat flutter simultaneously with his stomach doing flips. It wasn't often that England said things like that to him. But he still wasn't sure if England meant as a brother or as a lover so he held his tongue for once. Nevertheless, he did feel very guilty and hurt. Didn't England remember the times he used to fuss over him as a babe? Or had their constant disagreements throughout history really forced those memories to disappear? Did he not realize by now that for all the hatred he felt towards the younger man, the love he felt for him had never completely disappeared, that now he didn't feel such an intense hatred towards him? He must have not realized since he looked so defeated; or Scotland simply didn't make it clear enough.

"And to top it all off you ran away."

Scotland cringed at the monotonous reminder of his shameful cowardice. He would probably never forgive himself for that.

"You _never _run away! I searched almost _every house _you havein Scotland for eleven whole days and this place was one of my last hopes. I was calling people left, right and center; even that bloody Frog across the Channel! He's searching for you too you know and he's had to deal with me breaking down for almost _two weeks_. He's all the way on the other side of your fucking country looking for you along with Patrick and Cariad!"

Scotland could feel himself blanch at the thought of all these nations looking for him and worrying for him whilst he drowned himself in whiskey. It made him both happy and ashamed.

"Did you know that poor Seamus's been on his own this whole fucking time? Of course you don't because you're fucking here! You know how much I hate leaving him! Compared to us, Alasdair, he is practically a _baby. _But you seem to have forgotten that he's _my _baby! God only knows how Patrick is managing!"

Scotland mentally flinched at North's situation and he begun to feel quite guilty. Though North never complained or didn't show many signs of distress, he knew that the younger lad absolutely _hated _being alone for extended periods of time. Sure he liked a bit of breathing space but almost two weeks was an awfully long time to him. He knew better than most of the world what a trying existence Northern Ireland had and continues to have. Born through disagreements and negativity, living through social and political turmoil; the boy had a golden heart that was reinforced with diamond-plated steel. Scotland did sometimes wonder how the boy even managed to carry on living with the pain in his heart that would often reduce him to tears and the constant uncertainty of what he even _was_. He hadn't fully gotten over those things and was prone to vivid and horrifying nightmares that only got worse when there was no one to sooth him. What if he couldn't sleep because of those nightmares? God, he felt _awful._

However, what was blatantly certain was that England loved the boy dearly, personally considering him of equal standing in the United Kingdom and amongst the Commonwealth even if some didn't even think the boy a nation. What was also certain was that Ireland loved the boy as much as England did even if he had to give him up. He knew that there was a special place in England's sometimes seemingly endless and at other times seemingly cold heart for his children. Many a time he would personally bend over backwards, pulling at his restrictive chains held by his bosses, people and governments to be the best father he could possibly be- no matter what his people did. Even though his people used Australia as a dumping ground or as a second America, England never once thought of him as such, he fought France for Canada and even burned America's White House to the ground in revenge for him, he won the affection of New Zealand and a long, long time ago he was America's entire world. Now he was North's. It was definitely one reason he liked the stiff Englishman.

Scotland's thoughts also drifted to how concerned England was becoming of Ireland and vice-versa and how intimate they often were. The problem was that he knew full well that he couldn't and would never come in the way of that. As much as he sometimes tried to turn a blind eye to it, North was pretty much England and Ireland's son of sorts even though he was technically their brother. Ireland and The United Kingdom were bonded through him for as long as he lived. But more than that, it permanently united Ireland and England in a relationship that he could understand. His charges, Orkney, Shetland and the Hebrides, meant the world to him and his late son Darien was so very loved even though he never got the chance to know him. However it made him burn with jealousy if he was to be honest. It made burn with jealously at the intimate relationship both his brothers had because of North. He was also jealous of Wales but not so much. Even a blind, deaf and mute human would be able to sense the strength of their personal bond from a mile away. He gritted his teeth at his own situation.

Scotland looked down at his sobbing brother and wondered if anyone else had ever seen him like that. It was hard to believe that this was the nation that had practically owned the seas as a playground and instilled fear into the hearts of many a country.

England continued to shout at Scotland, frustrated by the lack of response he was receiving. He was shaking almost violently and, with every word he shouted out, England cried more and more and Scotland's grip got looser and looser. The older man had never been fantastic at comforting people. The fact that it was England only made it worse. England let out a strangled sob. He hated looking weak in front of anyone (and this time he couldn't blame it on the illness), but all the centuries of pent up emotion seemed to just spill out uncontrollably.

"I was so worried, but then I found you here and my heart almost_ collapsed _I was so happy. And I am _still_ happy that you're safe."

England smiled gently but it was very brief. His face soon contorted into heartbroken sneer.

"It's OK though because I know when I'm not welcome or wanted. With you I never have been and with good reason. I've been a right bastard to you and I'm _still _paying the price. I don't know how many times I have apologize to you before you believe me but don't you _dare _think that even for a moment I have never always loved you. Che, I don't know why I bother with loving you so much when I see it amounts to absolutely nothing. Do you think I enjoy all of this?_"_

Scotland didn't answer but he could clearly see that the blonde really _didn't _enjoy all the in-fighting and he felt that, perhaps, he was wrong about England. He really did care. England shook his head fiercely, trying to will the tears away but failing miserably.

"Ever since I was a child just growing into my power you have hated me. I learnt to rely on people like Francis, and it honestly seemed like he was more of a big brother half the time, when he used to take your beatings that were meant for me and when he comforted me when Rome killed Mother and then took me away from Patrick, from you and then even from Cariad. But I haven't been all that grateful to him either. So perhaps I deserve this now..."

Scotland's arms had fallen to rest on England's arms as they laid by his sides. He was dumbstruck by his brother's feelings and didn't know what to say. He could see what Ireland meant when he said that they couldn't go on hating each other. As much as he wanted to believe that they had moved on completely, the bitterness was _still _festering in their old wounds and eating them alive. The blonde had a tight hold of Scotland's working blue shirt since the older man had let go of his hair but then his arms suddenly fell to his side. England really did look like he had given up completely.

"Alasdair... no, _Alba...Scotland, _if you still really hate me so much, _please_, I would rather you say so one final time and leave me be. I have enough on my fucking plate to deal with without you pushing me away_ every time _I want to make amends. Without you leading me to believe you _actually care _for me_."_

Scotland shook his head in disbelief. He cared. _He really did_ _care. _He cared _so much_ that it left him breathless.

_"_If you hate me then don't laugh with me, don't comfort me, don't share the same space as me..."

England's thoughts drifted to the kiss he shared with Scotland underneath the mistletoe at Christmas. He remembered feeling so warm despite being outside in their vast back garden in the cold winter night.

"Don't...don't kiss me as you love me...That hurts _so much more _than the beatings you know that you're not willing to _trust _me and that you're willing to lead me on like that. That you're willing to treat me like some cheap whore. I have too much pride and self-respect for that. But if I'm wrong then talk to me because I _need _to know what's going through your head _Scotland!"_

The older man flinched at every use of his country name rather than his human name. He really was upsetting him and he was getting confused. Did England love him in return or was he just a fool? Scotland decided that now was a good a time to confess his feelings as any and finally find out for sure if England loved him too.

Ireland was right- if he didn't act on his feelings now, he could lose England to someone else forever. He could even loose England because of his own actions and words. He sighed piteously and then fiercely embraced his brother, trying to hold back his own tears whilst catching England's sweet scent. He thought it would be a miracle if the stubborn man loved him back at all after he just blatantly disregarded his feelings, beat him and even called him a whore...He knew it _definitely_ wasn't the worst thing he's ever done to his brother but over a thousand years of abuse and mixed messages had obviously taken its toll on the both of them.

He released his brother, taking him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. Willing himself to calm down he took a deep, steadying breath. Sincerity and love shone in his glassy eyes rather than the furious fire that had consumed them not even a minute before.

"It's not th' case. It's not th' case_ at all_...Yoou're nae a cheap whoor...not tae me...D'ye...d'ye remember Ah sed that Ah've got soomethin' tae tell ye?"

England nodded his head slightly.

Well...If...if I told yer that...that yur th' only thin' that goes throo mah head thes' days..."

England cocked his head to the side, completely puzzled by his eldest brother's bipolar attitude but waiting patiently for Scotland to elaborate. Said man sighed shakily, bowed his head and looked as if he was debating with himself. He shook his head and somehow found the self-confidence to carry on. He raised a tentative hand to wipe away the younger man's tears.

"...If I told yer that, woods ye believe me if Ah said that it's coz Ah loove ye sae much Ah cannae stand it? That yer drive me crazy with want?"

England looked thoroughly confused for a while longer but then his eyes widened and Scotland could see realization dawn slowly upon his little brother. England suddenly lost his usually eloquent grasp of the English language.

"B-but...how...why...when?"

"Ah dornt ken why or hoow but Ah can tell ye that Ah've looved ye since the moment Ah saw ye...but then that loove _changed_. Ah dunnae kinn when exactly but it must have bin 'bout a thousand years ago...Ah can remember ye visitin' me wance when ye had groon up an' Ah thooght 'Wow'. And when Ah saw ye wi' America, 'twas heartbreakin'..."

England seemed to be frozen in shock and this worried Scotland. England's cheeks began to heat up.

"Then that kiss at Christmas...and the quiach..."

Scotland didn't want to carry on looking into his brother's eyes for fear of rejection but he did. He wanted to show England that he was serious. That he had self-respect and respect for him to be a man about this. No more running away. He was trembling slightly with nerves. After over a thousand years of bottling it up and being dangerously close to being found out hundreds of times he was finally leaving his heart complete at the man's mercy. He lowered his arms and skimmed them down England's girlish waist before cupping the man's hips and leaning his forehead against England's. He inhaled and exhaled shakily with nerves.

"Aye, Ah woods _never_ kiss anyone else like that an' Ah woods _never_ make a quiach like that fer anyone else. This is th' first an' th' only time that I've ever felt like thes...that mah heart beats sae hard..."

He grabbed one of England's hands gently and laid it on his heart. He rubbed the top of the hand with his thumb in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. He smiled shyly, slightly embarrassed and very vulnerable. Pink was dusted along his cheeks. It was such an uncharacteristic look for the man who was usually prideful and solid.

"Hear it?"

England looked at their hands on Scotland's chest. The Scotsman's heart was indeed thundering so loudly that he could feel the powerful pulse vibrate through his own arm. Scotland entwined his fingers with the Englishman's.

"Mah heart's _yoors_. Every beat, every pulse. Ah thought Ah hated ye but...but _Ah loove ye_...Ah have always looved ye...an' Ah always will. Never, _ever _doubt that. But...Ah'm sae selfish too...Ah kin ye can't_ ever _be mine and mine aloone but I can't help mahself. I want ye _sae much _it's a sin but it's hoow Ah feel. Ah understand if ye dornt feel th' same but..._oh_ _God_..."

Scotland saw England's face slowly being consumed by a blush that spread to his cheeks, ears and upper neck. It was so adorable, and so lovely in his opinion that it left him quite breathless. He heard the man in front of him breathe just as shakily as him and he heard him gulp also. England's free hand let go of his brother's arm to reached up and caress his flaming face. Scotland's heart began to pound so loudly it physically hurt. Was England responding to him in kind, or with pity? He didn't think his heart would be able to handle pity. Just as he was about to ask England to speak, laugh or_ anything_, the smaller man reached up to nuzzle his nose against Scotland's, lips just a few centimeters apart.

"Oh Alas..._Why didn't you bloody tell me_?"

Scotland swallowed a lump in his throat. With England's lips within claiming distance, his lithe body pressed up against his and his natural smell of rain, grass and roses permeating the air it was getting harder and harder to form a coherent thought. His eyes glazed over.

"Ah hated ye and thirs no reason tae hide that but...but Ah was scared too...Ah was scared at how ye woods react..."

England seemed to ponder this answer before smiling gently and responding.

"Well _don't_ be scared you git..."

Scotland brain seemed to process the words slowly,_ so very slowly. _When it did, his whole being seemed to light up and he was filled with a desperate kind of hope. Tears began to fill his eyes once again.

"Please..._please _teel me that ye mean what Ah think ye mean."

England freed his other hand to wipe the tears away and caress the taller man's other cheek. He reached up and brushed his lips against the smooth surface he had slapped just a few minutes before and again where his lip was split. He did the same with Scotland's battered hand. He smiled up at his brother whilst holding his hand lovingly.

"For what other reason would I hurt so much when you say and act as if you still hate me, if it wasn't because I love you huh? What other reason could there possibly be for me to feel so empty unless you're by my side?"

Scotland could feel his heart soar and a small chasm of happiness begin to leak warmth into his being. Scotland didn't have a chance to answer England before a petite nose nudged his own. It was enough to leave him feeling sparks of electricity through his body as they both closed their eyes and Scotland was drawn to it. He was always so hopelessly drawn to the man. He began to slowly flirt with the soft lips he had wanted for so long, tentatively nipping and licking them and feeling as though he was simply in a very wonderful but very cruel dream. His mind buzzed lowly as England responded in kind; kissing teasingly, fleetingly and seductively. It seemed as if every time Scotland wanted to press his lips closer, the younger man would move so that their lips would only just graze each other. It drove the older man wild with want and his breathing became deep and heavy. When they parted, England's gaze bore deep into his brother's. Scotland couldn't help but think that, instead of an angel, his new lover was some sort of Incubus personally sent by the Devil himself to tempt him. He couldn't help but groan out.

"Feckin' tease...I need you..._please Arthur_...teel me you want me..."

England chuckled coquettishly but then he became very solemn. He didn't want going to waste a single moment. He was going to let Scotland know how he felt because the future was always unpredictable; always uncertain. He never knew when either of them would say something that would tip the scales of their already fragile relationship and result in both of them trying to rip each other apart. Earlier was a prime example. They were more than willing to taunt and abuse each other yet they were declaring their love minutes later. They were a clash; a mismatch. The fact that England was loved so much by their brothers and his numerous alliances with countries such as France, with whom Scotland was extremely close to as well, and America only seemed to heighten the sense that an exclusive love was unattainable. However, though this thought saddened him and he knew that the thought saddened Scotland too, he knew that it wasn't the end of the world. Scotland would be the man England would go home to at the end of the day and he was the man he would completely surrender to.

"I don't want you to _ever_ forget how much I care about you..."

Scotland smiled at England's sincerity. It reflected in his toxic coloured eyes and voice. It was a nice change from the lisping demon he could be and the stubborn tyrant he was often remembered to be. England reached up to whisper his own genuine confession in the other man's ear. The chemistry between them was electrifying but it slowly became smothering.

"Tha goal agam ort Alasdair..." _(I love you)_

Scotland didn't need anything else and he couldn't control himself any more. He covered the younger man's mouth with his own gently, sweetly but with an impatient vivacity. Joyful tears spilled down both men's faces. England threw his arms around Scotland's neck to deepen the kiss and to make sure there was no distance in between them. Scotland responded in kind by wrapping his arms around England's waist. They may have been distant in the past but not now.

Admittedly, they had had sex with each other on numerous occasions throughout history but often this was usually only used to show dominance, hatred and superiority. Sometimes it was used as a cure for boredom or because they were driven by lust or there simply wasn't anyone else to relieve their tensions. Only rarely was there any semblance of love in their 'intimacy' and often it was the desperate kind. Both the kiss they had shared at Christmas and the kiss shared in the hallway were much more intimate than all of those other occasions. Scotland had heard from other countries about how wonderful it felt to be with the one you love and for them to return your affection. Scotland remembered what he had thought earlier about the pain love could bring. Now that he knew England loved him too, he couldn't believe that he had ever thought that. Yes it can bring pain, but love _itself..._love itself was a divine thing. Falling so hard for England seemed so worth it now. He prayed for only one thing at that moment. He prayed to God to allow him to keep this joy in his heart forever.

Scotland had to proven to be true to his declaration of selfishness. His tongue sneaked its way into his brother's mouth after a few tentative licks to his lips and his body pressed the smaller one into the wall. The pleasured gasp and the back arching that followed made Scotland's own voice growl out possessively. _'Mine' _he thought, just like he told Ireland weeks ago. The man who's mouth he was claiming so eagerly, who was responding to him so deliciously was _his_ just as much as he belonged to said man. Call him possessive but no one else could have _his _Arthur like he had him. Even if the bosses set up new alliances, marriages and treaties, even if the whole word decided to try and snatch the man away from him- he wouldn't let go. He would always be the thorn in their side. If Arthur one day didn't want him any more then he would have to accept that. It would be hard but it wouldn't be fair on either of them to remain together in that circumstance. Scotland wasn't an unreasonable man. However, as long as the younger man wanted him, he would stand strong with his claim. England could be with which ever member of the family that he wanted or needed to be with and Scotland could indulge himself once in a while, but the younger man would ultimately answer to him at the end of the day.

Things got heated quickly as years of sexual frustration began to flood their minds. Both participants were feisty and demanding and the clash only served to fuel their desire. England would occasionally nip at his brother's mouth, at times getting a taste of blood, and Scotland found that his own mouth was just as enamoured with England's ears and neck as it was with his lips. At one point, Scotland was sucking greedily on the juncture between England's neck and shoulder. He wanted to mark and he wanted to claim the man. He wanted the whole world and England himself to know who he belonged to first and foremost. It was a deep, possessive hunger that seemed to saturate the blood pumping through his veins. He was fast losing all his sanity as he bit hard enough to draw blood. At that same point England had pulled the front of Scotland shirt right out of his jeans and his hand was adoringly tracing the contours of Scotland's abs. England moaned in appreciation of the muscle definition. Their mouths rejoined in a battle for dominance. A heated dance as old and as passionate as love itself.

Scotland wasn't innocent of touching his lover either however. He found that though they started around England's waist, his arms slowly unwound to grip at England's hips and press them firmly to his own. From then on his hands would wander lower and around as if he had no control over them. At that England simply moaned and pulled away to smirk at his brother, a smirk that made Scotland's pulse hammer erratically and his blood pump southward, and snaked a toned thigh up and down his brother's leg. Getting the message, Scotland grabbed the younger man's thighs, hoisted him up in the air and then wrapped the lithe limbs around his middle. They fit perfectly against one another and their eyes were fixed on the others'. Matching greens as dark as evening forests. The supple skin of the Englishman's neck beckoned once more. He felt the gnawing need to hear England's voice whilst they were in this position; whilst he was consumed by passion. He panted against the younger man's neck and kissed it periodically between his words.

"_Again_...Teel me again...hoo much ye loove me."

England could barely gasp his words out.

"...Ahh...I...I love you...love you so much"

"_Hoow much_...hoow much dae ye loove me Arthur?"

"..._Too_ much...hhmm...you...you drive me bloody _mad_..."

Scotland reconnected their mouths hungrily and groaned in both agreement and in pleasure. If God decided there and then that he had enough of such venality, Scotland would have gone to hell a happy nation. He couldn't bring himself to care about his burning lungs. He didn't care about anything but the angelic tempter who was beginning to writhe so shamelessly against him. He could slowly and steadily feel himself rocking his hips to meet England's own much to England's delight. Although he didn't want to rush things, Scotland found that it was getting harder and harder to stop. He almost took back what he said about not caring that his lungs were on fire. He thanked God for the desperate need for oxygen and his brother seemed to be thinking the same thing. They didn't want to continue further after they had just had an argument.

They both separated from each other, albeit rather reluctantly, and were both panting hard. Scotland's hair was tousled rather attractively since England had run has hands through it repeatedly during their kiss. Both pairs of matching eyes were glazed over and glassy. The blush was still very prominent on England's face and Scotland laughed quietly. England looked at his brother with an offended expression.

"What...*huff*...are you...*huff*...fucking laughing at!"

Scotland smiled candidly and his right hand came up to tilt England's mouth to him in a very brief but very adoring kiss. The hand remained on England's cheek, stroking it soothingly.

"Jist sae happy that someone sae bonnie can be mine. Ah cannae believe it. I've waited _sae long _fur thes an' yoo're worth every second."

England was as red as one of Spain's tomatoes. He tightened his hold on his brother and leaned his head in the crook of his brother's head, nuzzling it sweetly.

"How can someone who can be such a brute and someone who can be as sweet and as gentle as one of Wales' lambs be the same person?"

"Ah coods ask ye th' same thin' really..."

"Shut up and just hold me."

And that's what Scotland did. England reluctantly unwound his legs and placed his feet back on the floor. They remained like that for a while, content to be at peace in each other's arms; allowing their heart rates to go back to normal. When Scotland ran a hand through England's hair however, he could feel the blood that was beginning to dry. He felt deeply ashamed, especially when England hissed in pain. Scotland embraced the man tighter.

"I'm sorry..._I'm so sorry_..."

England knew somehow that Scotland wasn't apologizing for just this beating. He simply pushed Scotland off of him in a gentle fashion to hold the man's distraught face with both hands.

"It's OK...I forgive you, seriously it's not that deep. It was partly my bloody fault in the first place; I shouldn't have taunted you. I'm the one that should be sorry,_ for everything. _Now, come on. Where's the bathroom so I can wash the blood out? Oh but first, may I take my coat off?"

Still feeling quite mortified, Scotland nodded his head and took the man's coat; hanging it up neatly. He then took the younger man by the hand to his upstairs en-suite. Where they went about the business of washing England's hair and wound carefully. Thank God England was right, it wasn't that deep. Head cuts were notoriously infamous for bleeding profusely even when the cut was minor. Scotland got out a first aid kid to disinfect the wound and he realized that he would probably need to wipe his wall clean of the blood and clean up his floor. This was all done in relative silence, one that, at first, was quite tense until England kissed Scotland sweetly to make it clear to the older man that he was in no way angry. It was peaceful as they returned downstairs.

Scotland suddenly realized, however, that this peace could only last so long. He would, after all, return to the House of the United Kingdom. He and England wouldn't be able to spend much time together as usually at least two members of the United Kingdom were living in the house at any one time (and it wasn't usually both of them), Ireland had promised to visit at least once every one to six months rather than once every blue moon and England had promised him the same. Also England's 'children' were sometimes inclined to visit. In fact Australia along with New Zealand and Canada were going to return for Christmas as they had done the previous year. Friends like France and Norway liked to visit often too as well as..._others _such as America.

Scotland suddenly had an idea.

"Arthur, bide here wi' me fur a few days."

The younger man looked up at his brother in slight confusion.

"But we have to go back to the house. Everyone's worried about you and I've got work to do. My bosses will get more pissed with me and-"

Scotland pressed his lips against his brother's not only to stop his rant, but also to persuade him. It wasn't the kindest tactic, it was rather cruel, in fact, to use someone's feelings to get what you wanted but if it meant that England would stay with him for a few days he was willing to resort to that kind of persuasion. His eyes smouldered; his voice became huskier and more seductive. He practically purred each word. Though he thought that he didn't want to rush things, now that he thought about it, he just wanted to scrap that plan. He wanted nothing more than to grab his lover and throw him on his bed upstairs and then never leave it. He wanted England and by God he was determined to have him and love him until he couldn't see straight; to show his love in the perfect physical way as well as emotionally.

"Bide. Wi'. Me. If we gang back we willnae hae tay much time tae oorselves. Please, let's jist hae a few days tae oorselves..."

When the younger man began to protest quietly Scotland nipped sharply at his jaw in warning (but not hard enough to break the skin there), slowly making his way to the shell of his ear where Scotland gave a sly lick. He nuzzled the shell and whispered.

"Yer_ mine _noo, jist as Ah am _yoors_. Is it sae _wrong_ uv me tae want ye tae myself fur a while, tae shoow ye hoow much Ah want ye company? Thirs sae much we can do like walk aboout the fields fer a while..."

England felt shivers running down his spine. Though it was getting harder to protest, he wasn't going down without a small fight. He knew what Scotland was trying to do and he knew two could play at that game. He turned his head round and allowed his own mouth to worship Scotland's ear, giving him a taste of his own medicine. The older man groaned quietly. England smirked and decided to tease his brother even more. He trailed his hand slowly down the taller man's torso and delighted in the shocked widening of his brothers eyes when his hand went _lower_.

"By God man, I have never known you to be so sneaky? Whatever happened to that honesty you pride yourself on? Just admit that as much as you want me to spend time walking out in the fields with you, you would much rather have me spend time _under _you..."

Scotland had to chuckle at his brother's quick wit. It was one of the reasons he wanted him so much in the first place. Then again, England was, arguably, one of the most academically and intellectually gifted countries in the entire world due to fine institutions such as Oxford and Cambridge, even though it sometimes wouldn't come across that way. Also, England was home to some of the world's greatest thinkers, wordsmiths etc. such as Shakespeare, Bertrand Russell, Charles Darwin, Thomas Nelson and Isaac Newton (just to name a few).

"Who says ye will be under me? But yer reit. Ah have no reason tae lie tae ye...but hows abit takin' yer ain advice, yoo ken ye want tae bide here wi' me fur a while. "

England rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Fine then, but it's only because you insist! Let me get my stuff from outside. I'll need to use a washing machine to wash the clothes I have been wearing whilst looking for you."

Scotland was grinning like a fool, happy that he had gotten his way. Maybe France's advice did work after all!

"Guid. Ah ken it's a bit late but Ah was gonnae make breakfest, dae ye want some?"

Well it was a tiny white lie but he wasn't about to let England know that he had been drinking himself stupid before he showed up even though the younger man had noticed that already.

"I thought you would never ask you inconsiderate brute but just as long as you do not produce bleeding haggis."

"Jist fur that Ah am nae gonnae make anythin' other than haggis!"

"Well if that's the case I'll just drag you back home!"

Both men burst out laughing as England disappeared outside and Scotland walked to the kitchen. He cleared the table of all the empty whiskey bottles and then walked over to kitchen window in front of the sink. He opened it a little bit to let the cool, refreshing breeze caress his face. He lit up a cigarette. He was smiling beatifically and, for the first time in a long time, he could honestly say he was at peace and content. He had a family (including countries like Canada, New Zealand and Australia) who, as crazy as they were, were the best family he could ever have hoped for despite past problems. He had a country he personified that meant the world to him and that he was proud of. He had the most wonderful woman as a mother and though she was not alive any more, she would never be forgotten. Last, but not least, he finally had Arthur. He considered himself the luckiest man alive. When he heard footsteps through the kitchen and felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around his waist, he couldn't help but entwine his finger with England's.

"So, where's this breakfast you promised me?"

"Oh, thes is braw...I ne'er kent ye waur sae eager fur haggis!"

"Har har! Very funny. Do you need help?"

Scotland visibly paled and he thanked God above that he wasn't facing his brother at that moment.

"Nae, loove, nae. I'll be alright!"

"Fine, it's your loss anyway. I'm going to call everyone to tell them to call off the search."

Despite how much Scotland loved him, he just didn't have the heart to tell England that it wasn't his loss because, as long as England didn't cook, he would still be alive and well...

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><p><strong>Hope you liked this chapter! As always reviews and constructive criticisms are welcome! :D x<strong>


	7. An Act Of Union

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all the reviews and favourites; they have really brightened up my week! I'm also glad that people took to the UK extended family (my OCs in the Christmas chapter) and they shall be making more appearances in the future :)**

**Advance Warnings!: Scotland x England up ahead!**

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><p>It had been about a day or two since England decided to stay with Scotland in his remote home in the Shetland Islands. The time flew by and he honestly didn't even know day from night by that point. He did understand however, that the days himself and Scotland had to share together were severely limited. He had made Scotland promise him that they would return home when seven days had passed. However the mere hours that had passed so far were absolute bliss as far as either of them were concerned. For once in their teenage and adult lives, though they were unsure about how long it would last, there were no arguments and there was no animosity, there was only love and friendship and, if they were to be honest, there was quite a lot of <em>lust <em>as well. Scotland just couldn't seem to keep his hands off the younger man and England complained. Complaints, however, were only ever made when he wanted Scotland's hands on him _more. _Though this was the case, they still hadn't taken the final steps into a full consummation of their new relationship as the time had never seemed quite right.

It was exactly the same story on this evening. The day had begun simply enough with both men getting up at what England and Scotland considered a ridiculous hour (nine o'clock) but whilst the latter thought it too early, the former found it too late. They then begun accomplishing the mundane tasks of washing and dressing however, as the day went on, the atmosphere steadily became more and more sexually charged and they _both _knew it. By the end of the day they could both feel themselves reaching breaking point and the sexual tension was beginning to suffocate them. Every accidental touch and every glance felt like they were being set on fire.

Scotland couldn't help but stare at England as he was washing the dishes from his place at the kitchen table, whining loudly about his 'sodding lack of a fucking dishwasher as if they are so hard to come across!' Though the younger man could be so caustic at times, Scotland felt that he wouldn't have England any other way. Despite the seemingly smooth (well more or less) transition into a more stable relationship, Scotland was still getting used to the Englishman reciprocating his feelings but found it easier to accept the fact that he had fallen for _England _of all nations. It wasn't too long ago that he wanted to use his teeth to rip England's throat right out however now he wished to do _other _things that involved his teeth and England's neck.

Nevertheless Scotland did sometimes worry that he was acting a bit like a school boy with only one thing on his mind but _every_, _single _time that England gave him the _'come hither' _look, he would answer the call in no time at all. Every time he gazed upon the graceful, subtly sensuous and downright _dangerous _way England's body moved when he did almost _anything_ brought to life Scotland's roaring desire and absolute _need _to possess him and make him _scream. _He was at breaking point and 'If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain' as some of the Islamic nations liked to say.

Without really thinking he got up and made his way across the kitchen to wrap his strong arms around England's lithe frame. The younger man dropped the dish in surprise but thankfully it didn't break. He hissed his words venomously at Scotland.

"Bloody hell! If I didn't know for a _fact _that this house is abnormally hard to get to, I would have thought you a thief and knocked your sodding head off!"

There it was, that spitfire personality that always got under the older man's skin. The spitfire he couldn't resist. Honestly, if he wasn't a fire-cracker himself...Scotland chuckled and then groaned lowly as he began to nuzzle and kiss the back of England's neck, the sweet smell of his shampoo invading his senses as he pressed the younger man intimately into the counter whilst running his hands lightly up and down his torso and thighs. They were deep, dark, baritone sounds that made England flush darkly and his mouth go dry. The younger man could feel the sudden increase in electrical energy in the room and he could sense that Scotland was trying to gauge his reaction. He felt dizzy; the potency of the older man's sexual magnetism was something incredible and he still wasn't sure whether it should be worshipped or feared.

"Guid thin' ye ken that, isnae it? Coz it woods be...such a...shame..."

Scotland began to pull England's collar down to kiss his bare shoulder teasingly in a way that made the younger man's hairs stand on end and make his breathing heavier. The former Empire could feel himself slowly giving in to Scotland's firm yet gentle touch as if he was starved of it. He could practically feel the older man's smirk and every bit of skin that the man touched seemed to ignite and burn. His head lolled languidly to rest on Scotland's shoulder, submissive for now and allowing the man more access. He pressed himself against the older man, unconsciously grinding down on his brother's slight arousal. Scotland groaned and his hands slid down to cup his brother's hips.

"Oh but arenae ye th' most bonnie creature oan thes planit..."

England turned around in Scotland arms, his face painted the same colour of the roses that flourished in his home. He reached upward to play with the buttons on Scotland's shirt and he smiled coyly.

"Well, the truth of that statement depends on who's making it; am I right?"

Scotland rose to the challenge with gusto.

"Weel aam sayin' it, sae it's true..."

Scotland couldn't resist the man in front of him any longer. Trapping England against the counter, he smiled down at the younger man happily and then his lips covered England's own with a sweet tenderness that soon turned into eager vivacity. The blonde man's hand's which were previously locked on the front of his lover's shirt gently moved upwards to caress his face gently and drag him closer than was physically possible. Scotland moaned as the burning heat from England's hands ignited his cool skin. England was always warmer than him since his country was naturally warmer. His icy hand crept under England's shirt to stroke the soft flesh of his chest and the flat plains of his taut stomach. He revelled in the surprised keening sounds that England made, taking the opportunity to gain access into the man's mouth. Tongues danced with a passion that even Spain himself would be envious of. They parted briefly, staying close, and both were already panting and flushed. They looked deeply into each other's eyes, silently realising the seriousness of what they were about to do. Scotland spoke and desperation laced his tone.

"_God_...Ah dornt think Ah can stop meself noow...Please..._please let me loove ye_..."

England's eyes widened slightly but then he simply rested his forehead against the other's. He spoke quietly, scared to ruin the magic that seemed to seep into the atmosphere, but with desperate passion.

"_Why_ would I..._ever_ stop you?...God...love me...make love to me..._please_..."

England dragged the older man's lips back to his. Scotland moved to pry England's thighs open with his knee and moaned deeply when they spread easily for him. As they kissed, England raised himself in order to rut softly on Scotland's jeans-clad thigh. He ran his hands through the man's fiery red hair and used it as leverage to hold his own in the kiss. Scotland manoeuvred himself so that he could attack the younger man's neck. He sucked on existing marks, making them darker and he also made new ones, thoroughly branding the man. All the while England cupped the man's head tenderly to his body, running his hands through the inferno that was his hair. Scotland knew he would get hell for the marks later but it was definitely worth the gasps, moans and the feeling of the younger man clinging to him. He couldn't help himself when the younger man pulled him back up for another kiss.

When they came up for air, England moved forward and then he began to lead his beloved up to the bedroom he had become very, _very _familiar with. At every opportunity Scotland would reach forward to kiss England, completely addicted to his taste. At one point he even had England pinned to the wall (coincidently the wall where he first confessed the extent of his love), lithe legs wrapped around him as he rutted his hips against the blonde's and then pinned to the floor of the upstairs corridor as they had fallen in a heap of desire.

Scotland grabbed the blonde's waist and began to lick and kiss his neck. With his left he began to unbutton the former Empire's shirt and then remove it. He kissed, nipped and licked up the expanse of new, creamy skin before him. He completely covered his lover's back with his own torso, looming over him, dominating and intimate. He smiled when he found that England fit perfectly against him. He laid his right hand over England's smaller right, entwining their fingers and his left began to caress his chest whilst pressing firm kisses in between England's prominent shoulder blades. His breathing quickened when he felt the younger man moan out and arch into the touch. His hand then crept downwards to open up England's trousers enough to try and release his throbbing arousal. Scotland realised that there was a way to make the process easier.

"Arthur..."

England's world was beginning to blur into a haze of rapture but he managed to answer by turning his head.

"Yoour legs...spread them...spread yerself fer me again..."

Even though he was not submissive by nature, England knew he would never deny Scotland and so, like earlier in the kitchen, he spread his legs eagerly and silently delighted in his brother's possessive growl.

"Mah bonnie angel_...mah hen_...I dornt want ye tae _ever _spread yerself so..._easily _fer _anyone_ other than _me_..."

England could only cry out as Scotland began to gently pump the slick flesh in his palm. England's arms gave from the pleasure and he rested his head on his tired left arm, his right still held Scotland's hand tightly. Scotland simply followed him down and whispered breathlessly in his ear.

"Teel me, wee brother..."

England turned his head groggily, face flushed and panting. Scotland pecked his cheek and continued.

"Teel me...D'ya like this?..."

"Y-yes...ah!..."

Scotland smirked and kissed the cheek again.

"Guid...Coz yoo're gonnae have tae git used tae it."

Scotland let go of the throbbing flesh in his hand. He then got up, picked England up bridal style and carried him to the bedroom.

When they finally managed to get to the bedroom, England was laid down on the king-sized bed and sighed at the comfortable furniture he had come into contact with it. The white ceiling disappeared when a dark shadow loomed over him. Scotland crawled like a panther to straddle England's thighs where his body then took a serpentine shape, his posture coiled as if ready to strike and a lusty smile adorned his face. His muscled arms were holding him up and his large hands were at the sides of the blonde man's head.

He looked down to marvel his prey in an almost child-like wonder as he gently ran a hand against England's cheek. His face flushed, emerald eyes half-mast, silk-like golden hair even more dishevelled than usual, flared hips barely hanging on to his unbuttoned trousers and long legs readily spread to accommodate his body. The soft moonlight fluttering through the curtains made him look radiant and ethereal. He was indeed the most divine creature God had ever created. Though he thought that, Scotland's mind supplied that if England was an angel then he was most definitely a fallen one. To be such a tempter and to have a history as dark as his required some level of corruption. He was a beautiful angel all the same to him.

England was just as much in awe himself as he gently unbuttoned and tugged off Scotland's shirt and ran his hands along the man's well-defined chest, shoulders and stomach. He could feel power and fortitude saturate the muscle that lay underneath the older man's creamy skin. Old tribal tattoos and modern ones decorated his biceps, right pectoral and shoulders, leading to the expanse of his strong back. England simply couldn't believe that this man loved and wanted _him._

The Scotsman looked predatory but his eyes, though smouldering, were tentative as if he didn't want to scare the man under him with the extent of his want. They were consumed by a deep awe, love and fiery yearning. He was happy if the creases near his eyes and the smiles were anything to go by. He looked so much younger than his current physical age of thirty-one years, as if a new lease of life had awakened the warrior within him. He also seemed to glow in the moonlight that caressed them, bouncing off the earring in his right ear.

It broke England's heart to see just how much Scotland loved him when it was impossible for nations to remain monogamous. If he had his way, he would remain with the man forever. Then again, they were technically married through the Act of Union and they even had the rings to prove it. Where his and Scotland's rings were though was anybody's guess yet both the Ireland's and Wales still had theirs. He promised himself he would find those rings.

England reached up to his eldest brother, beckoning him downwards.

"C-come here you g-git. Come down here and k-kiss me..."

Scotland smiled indulgently and nudged his nose against England's affectionately in an Eskimo's kiss.

"Hoow coods Ah ever deny a request like that..."

He bent down to reach the former Empire's mouth and England couldn't help but sigh blissfully whilst wrapping his pale arms around his brother's neck after caressing the man's face again. The kiss was long and intense. Soon the pair found their still clothed hips rubbing in unison and Scotland found the barriers highly offensive. He tugged at the waistband of England trousers; asking for permission silently. England smiled up at the man and raised his hips slightly in response. Scotland lowered himself onto his right arm so that his left could remove England's trousers and underwear. The sight of England already so aroused for him made his own flesh burn with want and his mouth water. He wanted nothing more than to bury his head between those sweet, supple thighs. His mouth went to England's ear to lick, to bite and to lisp.

"Yoou're already sae wet fer me..."

England's hands went down to unbuckle the red-head's belt and unbutton his jeans. After Scotland kicked them off, he gasped when he felt the blonde seize his prize and stoke confidently. He had to place more force on his arms to hold him up.

"Che...what about yourself..."

In retribution the older man bit the junction between England's neck and shoulder. His hand crept towards England's arousal. England's grip on him remained firm but he did moan out at the reciprocated contact. Both men temporarily lost themselves as they thrusted gently against slick palms. England then suddenly raised himself on his arms and pushed the older man away. Flushed and panting slightly, he looked at his lover with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"No love, let me..."

He began to kiss and lick and bite his way down Scotland's torso getting closer, and closer still to the sensitive flesh standing proudly between his legs. He smirked up at his brother as he licked the tip gently before taking more and more of the man deeper and deeper in his hot mouth. Scotland couldn't help but stare. Even though he had been in such a position before he would never get tired of it. He would never tire of his Anglo-Saxon beauty nestling between his thighs to service him so wonderfully whilst he threads his hands in that golden hair with his mouth opened in a silent plea for _more._ England was thrilled at how he was the one who was making the older man flush and grunt and moan in rapture. He was the only man in the world who could make the Scotsman turn into a panting mess so easily. He was the one that made him flush and spread himself. However Scotland was reaching his peak so he pulled England off him and whispered in his ear huskily.

"_Mah__ turn noow..."_

He pushed the man back on the bed and then made sure to tease him. He was going so _slowly _in England's opinion and he was deliberately touching everywhere except where the attention would be really appreciated. Scotland reached his goal eventually and he palmed the stiff flesh gently.

"You...wanker...hurry the fuck up!"

Scotland simply laughed and scraped his teeth along the underside of England's cock in warning.

"If Ah were ye, Ah woods rephrase that..."

England's hands went to run themselves through the fiery hair of his lover. He knew what his brother was trying to do and he knew that he was nowhere near close to begging. He grabbed the hair firmly, sat up and yanked the man back up to him and kissed him with all the love he had in him. One of his hands went around the larger man's body to stroke his spine. He began to grin into the kiss when he felt his brother's strong back arch and bend against his touch, his body twitch and convulse and he heard him moan in rapture. He never did forget that Scotland's erogenous zone was along the length of spine that was his pride and glory. It was the spine that kept him standing tall and proud. He often said that it was 'the tool of a real man.' When they parted, England looked up at his lover through his lashes; he was a picture of sweet innocence.

"Is that better? Give me...what we both want you git."

Scotland pushed the younger man back on the bed none too gently and went back to his original position. He grinned sadistically despite the fact he was panting and completely flushed.

"I'll make ye...eat yer words...ye scunner."

He then engulfed England in one go making the younger man cry out at the sensory overload. His back arched dramatically and he wanted nothing more than to thrust into the wet heat but one of Scotland's large hands had his hips pinned right down. His other hand was stroking England's erogenous zone. It was the expanse of skin where, just under it, his heart was located. Just like one of his former monarchs, he too was Lionhearted.

"Fuck...Alas!"

Scotland dragged his mouth upward, releasing England's erection only to almost immediately take it back in his mouth again. He didn't regret his wish to bury his head in between England thighs since he was getting such a delicious reaction. He would occasionally nip, lick and kiss at the crown to make sure that England would be kept teetering on the edge. When he heard the man's cries grow higher in pitch he released him completely and raised himself up to kneel. England whined at the lost but shuddered at the sight of Scotland's pink tongue darting out to lick his pre cum from the corner of his mouth sensually, his eyes that were glazed over completely and at the sight of his eldest brother's well defined abdominal muscles on display for his viewing pleasure.

A bout of insecurity struck him and he suddenly realized the position he was in.

Though his own figure was in no-way unattractive, he found himself feeling quite self-conscious when he looked at Scotland. The red-head was a _man_; muscled in all the right places but not in an over-exaggerated manner nor was he bulky. He was the tallest out of their family, strong, confident and most definitely handsome. The striking colour of his hair (that was beginning to be accentuated by the appearance of white strands) and his emerald eyes really highlighted his alabaster skin and the occasional freckles that dotted various places. His cocky, lazy smirk and his older age only seemed to add to his potent sexual magnetism, making him more desirable. Much like whiskey, he got better with age. He also had intelligence, sensitivity and a playfulness that proved that a man needn't discard those qualities to be a true man. He was honourable, honest and loyal.

However England was much more petite than his eldest brother and his figure a tad more soft and feminine even though it was lithe and toned. He couldn't help but admire him but he also couldn't help but worry that, perhaps, Scotland might not want him any more. He had left himself so vulnerable to Scotland and he let him see just how much he loved him. A part of him, the Empire, the pirate and the anarchist all rolled into one, was absolutely disgusted with himself for leaving himself wide open for heart ache. The other part however, was angry at himself for even considering the thought that Scotland didn't want him and that Scotland was just as vulnerable as him. He was broken out of his reverie by a deep voice, smug grin and a wink.

"Dae ye see somethin' ye like wee brother? I knoow I dae."

England blushed, sat up, put his arms around Scotland's waist and began kissing the man's broad chest that was littered with scars from previous battles. England himself had a mass of scars as well and he had seen Scotland's marks before so it was nothing new. There was no nation alive that wasn't marked in some way. England ran a pink tongue over Scotland's nipples and began to suck and nip gently. He smirked when he heard Scotland hiss out and he let go to look at Scotland through his lashes. Scotland shuddered at that smirk; sometimes it seemed perpetually etched on his younger brother's face.

"No, I see something I _love_..."

Though England was beside himself with pleasure and all that was Scotland, he found the strength to push the older man in order to reverse their positions. Once comfortably settled on the man's hips, he ground down harshly causing them both to moan out. Scotland brought the younger man down for another kiss and then spoke gently.

"Yoou ken that by now Ah ken what yoour feelin' from yer eyes. What's there tae be insecure aboout when yoo're th' most gorgeoos creature I've ever seen? When it shood be impossible fer someone tae loove another soo much?"

England spoke out huskily, now looking quite haughty. Every word was partnered with a lazy roll of hips. A thin sheen of sweat covered both their bodies.

"Nothing...Hurry. Up."

Scotland obliged and rummaged under the pillows for the bottle of lube kept there and grinned up at England. He raised himself and lathered his fingers in the slippery substance, making sure to rub them together to warm it up, he reached between England's legs to tease his needy hole. He could distinctly hear England's breath hitch and his grip tighten on his shoulders. When he slipped the first finger in gently, he could feel England shudder like an engine.

After a while he added a second and then a third finger. Though it certainly stung at first, it was nothing England couldn't take and Scotland did his very best to be gentle. Stretching, scissoring and rubbing and all the while searching for that one spot he knew would drive England wild. Even before then, England was already rutting against his fingers and he was impaling himself deeper and deeper. Scotland frowned briefly. He got slightly worried about how jealous he was over his own fingers. His thoughts were interrupted by England raising his voice to almost a scream.

"There...Alas, there!"

Scotland then made sure to aim for that spot but, just because he liked to tease, he would only brush the spot gently. England's whines and his spine being stroked made him nuzzle England's neck.

"You git! Hmmm...ahh..."

"...Noo need...tae rush loove..."

England keened loudly and had to bite back a highly snarky comment. Though he tried his best to not be reduced to begging, he was beginning to feel desperation claw at his insides. His brother raised his head and his smug voice filled the room.

"Teel me...Teel me what ye want..."

England moved his head so that he was nose to nose with the older man. Sheer honesty and desperation laced the younger man's words and filled his eyes.

"...You...I want_ you_..."

Scotland's eyes widened in surprise but then the blatantly obvious implications behind the words began to sink in and went straight to his cock. He removed his fingers with care, smiled up at England beatifically and kissed him sweetly. When they parted, he lingered at his brother's lips, eyes dark and hungry in an almost feral manner that reminded England of the times when Scotland, or Caledonia as he was known as then, used to roam his Scottish highlands and lowlands, attacking all the Romans who had dared to try and take what was his by birth. The older man practically purred whilst smirking.

"_Have me then..._"

England reached down, grabbed the bottle of lube and squeezed a generous amount into his hand. He reached down to caress his brother's heated flesh. Scotland began to pant gently. England raised himself, shaking slightly, and then with Scotland's help he began to lower himself down until the head of Scotland's shaft was inside. He fully understood that this was the point of no return and, though he was no virgin, he was slightly nervous. Thank God Scotland seemed to understand and was feeling the exact same as he stroked the younger man's back comfortingly. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked his hair as he sighed and moaned with bliss. He paused for a while to look his brother in the eye, lick his lips briefly and smile wryly.

"_I love you_..."

With that he threw all caution to the wind and slammed down, completely engulfing Scotland in his tight, wet heat. They both cried out loudly and they held on to each other tightly. The smaller man wrapped his arms around the Scotsman's shoulders and kept still. It had been a while for him after all. Though Scotland wanted nothing more than to grab England's hips and thrust himself in and out his tight, heated core, he waited with the patience of a saint so that the smaller man could adjust himself to accommodate his girth. He wrapped his arms around the blonde's waist, peppered his face with kisses and the younger man shuddered despite the heat radiating off his body.

England began to think that perhaps what he was feeling at that moment was the perfect love that the humans always talked about and desired more than anything. That pure, selfless love that made angels sing and humans rejoice. He was never one for crying, always keeping a stiff upper lip unless pushed to the extremes, but he couldn't seem to help the tears of joy that seemed to overflow from the confines of his heart. It was a wonderful feeling. Scotland felt the tears and he immediately thought that the pain might have been too much for his England.

"Dornt cry mah hen...th' pain will go away soon...but if it hurts too much we can stop-"

England silenced his brother with a chaste kiss. He rested his forehead on the older man's and smiled happily.

"Hurts...yes a tad because it's been a while...but...but I don't think I can remember the last time...I was as happy as now. It's worth it even if I'll be bloody sore after."

Scotland closed his eyes and felt tear escape. He felt silly but he was so happy he felt he could burst.

After a few minutes, England loosened his vice-like grip on the older man and rocked his hips gently, causing the Celt to hiss. He leaned down and licked the tears that were sliding down Scotland's face and then the shell of his ear. His voice, soft but dripping with wantonness, husky and hot, seemed to wash over Scotland, lulling him into a daze of breathless pleasure.

"I love you...so much and I _want_ you..._all of you_...please Alas, _please_..."

The older man looked up through his lashes, his eyes hungry as they raked up and down England's body. He never thought that being joined to someone so physically, so intimately whilst loving them so completely could be so satisfying and beautiful. Though he would have loved to linger on the more poetic aspects of lovemaking because he was a poetic nation by nature, his blood was beginning to boil with sheer carnal_ need _for the man riding him so sensually. Each sluggish roll of the Englishman's hips threatened to make his eyes roll back in their sockets. He began to rock his hips upwards to meet England's as his arms snaked round to cup the former pirate's hips and later his full rear and thighs. They constantly stroked and grabbed at the soft, supple skin. He purred low in his throat, sweat trickling down his face from exertion.

"...Ah loove ye too...God only knows hoow much...Mmm...aye, rock like that lad..."

England smiled and then preceded to mould his lips against his brother's and grind his hips downward more aggressively; desperately trying to reach the oblivion he knew they both desired. He wrapped his arms around the Scotsman's broad shoulders. Scotland rested his head on England's chest, loving the feel of the younger man holding him so affectionately. With every thrust the slapping of skin would get louder and louder. For England, the pain had completely subsided and a couple of well placed thrusts had him seeing stars.

"God Alas...more-ah...hhmm..._please_."

Scotland nodded and his shaking arms pushed England backwards though the action did cause both of them to become detached and the younger man to whine at the lost. He stretched his arms upwards, trying to get the older man back in his embrace where he wanted him. Scotland lined himself back up with England's entrance and thrusted back into the blissful, tight heat. He lowered himself onto his forearms but not before England's shapely legs were tightly wrapped around his torso. Chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose they moved together in unison. Slow but intense and loving.

They shared long, passionate albeit sloppy kisses as their hearts seemed to beat in time with each others. England would run his hands through Scotland's Mars-coloured hair and over his torso. When their lips weren't locked they would gaze at each other in joyous wonder. Soft whispers of sweet-nothings in languages as old as themselves passed between them. They were genuinely enjoying themselves and each other. It wasn't frivolous type of enjoyment but one that brought about a deep satisfaction.

England felt incredibly special in Scotland's hold, as if he was the finest person the world had to offer. He had often heard that making love was much more wonderful than simply having sex and yet he never really thought it as significant. History often reminded him that he used such an intimate and sacred act as a tool but as his body was worshipped he couldn't believe that he had ever been so foolish. He could feel his heart soar every time he heard the handsome man above him moan his name softly like a soothing mantra. He could feel himself slowly being consumed by all that was Scotland and he didn't want to fight it. He wanted to embrace it.

Scotland, on the other hand, had never felt more powerful in his entire life. He was physically and literally much older than England and yet it was he, and not some young, virile nation like America, who was making the former Empire moan and writhe and flush with ecstasy. It was all because of him and him alone. He felt wonderful that it wasn't just sex, it was making love. He felt like more of a man than ever; with every strong snap of his hips he knew in his heart that he was pleasing and satisfying his lover. Every time England bucked his hips upwards to meet him half-way, his exalted heart was humbled by the younger man's sincerity and love. He could never lie to himself however. He knew that every time he made love to England there would always be a much darker, more possessive side to him that would want nothing more than to assert complete dominance and mark and monopolize what he felt was rightfully his. It didn't matter to him though. He knew that in these special, intimate moments there was no one else in the world but the two of them.

All too soon they could both feel the familiar heat coiling forever tighter within their stomachs and Scotland's thrusts became quicker and more erratic. He raised himself slightly and reached downward with a trembling hand to stroke England's leaking erection softly. By then England's cries had become louder and more wanton but Scotland wanted him to cry out louder still. He bent his head to trail his tongue down the shell of England's ear only to then continue his journey southward to nip at the graceful neck and finally his chest where his erogenous zone was located. He grinned wildly when the smaller man lost any elocution that he may have possessed and all that came from his mouth were disorientated cries of his name. He always did love his name, its sound and its meaning, but it seemed just that little bit more special when England said it and he liked that. However when the younger man was screaming his name in the throes of ecstasy...well he _loved _it. He closed his eyes briefly to savour the hoarse moans.

"Alas...dair...A-alas!...h-hah..."

Scotland knew that the younger man was teetering dangerously on the edge of oblivion and so was he; they just needed that extra little push...

"C'mon Arthur...Cum fer me..."

The sound of that sinfully dark, baritone voice seemed to vibrate right through England. With a quiet cry he felt the glorious burst of pleasure shoot through him and temporarily stun him. The sound of his cry and the sudden extra tightness set the older man off as well and England revelled in his expression; he looked glorious, triumphant and yet completely beside himself.

Scotland collapsed on top of the smaller man, his head laid against his chest and he could hear the thunderous heartbeat that lay just below the expanse of skin. England lifted his tired arms and laid his hands on Scotland's head, running his fingers through the damp locks gently. Their panting quietened down some after a couple of minutes.

"Yoou _really_...like doin' that...dornt ye?..."

England chuckled lightly.

"I've always..._loved_ your hair..."

They fell into a very comfortable silence that was only broken by the sounds of them breathing and their slowing heartbeats. It was a peacefully intimate moment. England soon found, however, that the elder nation was getting rather heavy and he hadn't detached himself at all.

"Alas, love, are you asleep?"

A long period of silence passed and England was about to give up if it weren't for a soft voice that seemed quite overdue.

"Ah am...but...but I dornt..."

England felt worry blossom inside him, especially when Scotland's hold on him tightened.

"What's wrong Alas?"

The older man heaved a deep sigh. He nuzzled England chest gently and ran a hand delicately over the skin.

"I dornt...I dornt want tae sleep or else sae much time will go by and, 'fore ye know it, we'll haftae go back...and then yoou won't be mine alone any more..."

England could feel his heart sink completely and his mouth become dry. What could he honestly say to that? It was the absolute truth, there was no denying that, but what could he say to make the man feel better? Another truth was that he couldn't say _anything_ that _would _make it better. Before he could even stutter something unintelligible, Scotland raised himself to look at England, in the process detaching himself, and he smiled sadly whilst nuzzling England's nose with his own.

"But dornt worry wee one. If th' others loove ye even_ half _as much as Ah loove ye, an' Ah knoow they dae, then Ah ken Ah am doin' the reit thin' by allowin' it."

England was looking at his brother wide-eyed; as if he had suddenly grown a second head.

"But...but-"

Scotland chuckled as he placed a finger against England's lips to shush him.

"Calm doown luv. I ken that Ah can _easily_ keep yer completely fer myself. But that woods make ye unhappy. It woods make th' others unhappy. Ah ken Ah cannae cage ye an' that's all rite. It's all rite...jist as lang as Ah can _still_ loove ye."

England was completely incredulous. He was in shock and he was sad, happy and guilty. He felt so many things he didn't know what to do except throw his arms around the other man. He could feel his wretched tear ducts do what they did best and he began to sob quietly. Scotland was expecting this reaction. He had resigned himself long ago to the fact that he would have to settle with sharing England or not having him at all. Even thinking about the last option made his heart feel like it was being ripped from his very chest. Though he knew it would take some time before he could, at the very least, manage the natural feelings of jealousy he was alright with it. He was alright with it as long as England wanted him.

"Hey, hey. Dornt cry, dornt cry. Thes isnae anyone's fault."

England moved to cup Scotland's face and look him straight in the eyes.

"No, Alas, _no_. This is _my_ fault and it's not _fair _on you. After _everything _I've done t-to you...After everything I'm still so fucking selfish...I love you s-so much...so much it hurts...b-but...I love the others too...I cannot be yours and yours alone and you deserve so much _better _than that...you deserve someone who can give you _all _of their heart."

The red-head leant forward to catch England in a frenzied kiss and his large hands grabbed at England lower arms. England began to cry more. He wept as his heart broke because of his selfishness and at how easily he gave in to the older man. With every kiss and every touch he could feel himself falling deeper but Scotland was already as deep as he could possibly be. It wasn't fair on the older man. When they parted Scotland shook his head and spoke out desperately. He had waited too long to lose England now. His eyebrows furrowed as he desperately tried to get England to understand.

"Ah dornt want anyone but ye! D'ye understand? Ah woods raither have that part of yer heart that ye give tae me than noothin' at all...Ah ken it's gonnae be hard at first but it's either that or Ah loose ye an' _Ah'm not willing tae loose ye_!"

England bit his lip to keep from crying out and his head hung low in shame. Scotland let go of his forearms, one hand coming up to stroke his cheek softly and the other to hold the smaller hand in his own.

"Mah hen, it hurts me when ye cry 'cos for over a thousand years Ah swear that's all you've ever done aroound me."

England stared wide-eyed and then bust into a small chuckle.

"Sappy arsehole...and you know that's not true..."

"Ye loove it..."

England shook his head gently and, though he was still crying, he leant his forehead against the Celt's. He looked into the man's eyes and though they were exactly the same as his, they were so different too. He spoke miserably.

"I do love it...and I love _you...I really do..._but I don't _deserve_ you...I don't deserve someone like you _at all_."

Scotland moved his head and pressed his lips against the others; tilting England's chin upwards to deepen the kiss and coaxing the other's tongue to dance slowly with his own. He pushed the younger man back down on the bed and gazed down sadly.

"Ye_ still _dornt git it. As a nation, as Englain, aye maybe ye _dornt_ deserve me. But Ah dornt care aboout that. Aam nae guiltless either ye ken, aam jist a coontry like ye. But as Arthur Kirklan'? Aye, ye doo deserve tae be looved like onie other man in th' world. Yoou silly lad. Ye act like Ah'm not in th' same position as ye.

He wiped the free flowing tears, despairing slightly when it seemed as if more cascaded down the petite man's flushed cheeks, and then reached out to his bedside cabinet and took a box from on top of it. Another box lay on the table also and both boxes looked centuries old in their design and grandeur. They also looked terribly familiar to England as he sat up to get a closer look...

"Ah ken thes is probably a bit late...and mebbe in'a few years Ah willnae even have the reit tae wear mine but Ah think that thes is th' best way Ah can show ye that Ah dornt mind sharin' ye because-"

Scotland opened the box and England gasped as he raised his hands to his mouth in shock. Inside were the rings both himself and Scotland had received upon their marriage in the Act of Union. This was all the way back in 1706. They were exactly as he remembered. Pure gold bands, both with a 'simple' late Tudor or early Stewart design. His ring consisted of a blood red ruby surrounded by pearls and diamonds and Scotland's was exactly like his except the ruby was replaced with a sapphire. White and red, white and blue- their flag colours. He remembered that Wales had a yellow diamond and both the Ireland's had emeralds. He could feel his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile when he remembered that he told his King of that time, James VI and I, that the rings were honestly too grand and that they would most likely rest at the bottom of the Thames River. (1) Scotland was smiling sincerely from ear-to-ear.

"-...Because when I married you, you_ already_ had Cariad by yer side. Years later we _all _married Patrick and now wee Seamus' is ours too. So what _reit _dae Ah have tae be selfish? Even Patrick has a reit tae still loove ye. We're all in thes taegether with _yoou_ at the heart."

England could feel the stirring of an acute joy bubbling in the pit of his stomach. It was just as intense as earlier when he and Scotland had joined so intimately. He practically threw himself at the now laughing man once more.

"You..._you silly git_. You will _always_ have the right to wear your ring! And give yourself and the others more credit; without all of you by my side I would have been, and still would be, absolutely _nothing_."

England nuzzled the man's neck.

"_God..._I love you so."

Scotland once more felt at peace. He had fought a battle and won. Though the war was far from over, he had a gut feeling that he would be just fine.

"I loove ye too wee one."

England was still for a bit, still feeling very guilty but the happiness he felt seemed to over shadow that. However, after a moment, a thought appeared in his head very suddenly. He grabbed Scotland by the shoulders after getting out of his hold, much to the surprise and confusion of the other.

"But Alas...you bloody well know that I can't go around wearing that ring. God only knows what would happen to it!"

Scotland confused expression immediately melted into his infamous smirk.

"Oh Aye! I fergot that yer th' 'King of Loosin' Things'!"

"Oh belt up you git or you're not getting any for a while!"

Scotland paled to the colour of the bedsheets.

"Ye dornt mean that d'ye?"

England flushed.

"Well...I suppose I don't if you make that bloody face...but seriously...I _can't_ wear that ring, it's much too special..."

The older man recovered very quickly and cuddled the younger man.

"That's fine. I was gonnae ask ye what ye thought of gettin' some plain bands tae wear every day. Not tae symbolise aur political union, but aur personal one..."

From the safety of Scotland's arms, England could feel himself smiling like a tear-stained fool.

"Alright, I'm satisfied with that option...no I'm really _happy _about that option..."

"Guid, noow stop cryin' coz otherwise Ah willnae make onie shortbreid fur ye..."

England raised one eyebrow in disbelief. His voice drawled sarcastically as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"_Oh__ dear Lord! _Give me the strength to stop crying lest I should be forced to surrender my privilege to my lover's bloody shortbread!"

Scotland burst out laughing and was happy that England, for once, was actually willing to drop the subject even if he was using exaggerated sarcasm to do so. The younger man relaxed completely in his embrace, head resting on his broad chest and one arm curled around the older man's hips. Scotland had to admit that he really liked a satisfied England; he was as content as a kitten.

Gentle kisses were shared between the two of them. Kisses that made them moan and kisses that made their cheeks burn, their tongues dance and their heads dizzy but soon Scotland could feel the blonde man become heavier as sleep began to take him so he leant back to rest his head on his pillow, taking care not to disturb his lover. He had so many things he wanted to talk about but he was absolutely fine with simply laying there just savouring the peace of the moment.

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><p><strong>That's it guys! Hope you enjoyed the chapter and hopefully the next one will be up in a few days.<strong>

**Reviews and constructive criticisms all welcome as always! :D x**

**Note:**

**(1) Thames River: Major river around which London is built :) **


	8. Confrontations

**Hey everyone! Just a quick notice! After this chapter and the following one I'll hopefully be writing some light-hearted stuff just to lighten the mood up a bit cos up until now the chapters have been quite serious...**

**ANYWAYS! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah not mine except the plot and OCs!**

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><p>As Scotland and England drove closer to the grand mansion they called 'Home', they couldn't help but feel anxiety gnaw away at their insides. Yes they were together. It was a more or less open relationship but they were 'together' all the same so that wasn't a problem. The problem was sitting their family down and actually telling them. Whilst Scotland was more optimistic and believed that they would all understand, England was one cheeseburger shy of a full-blown heart attack. He theorised that North would take the news well and after a while Ireland would accept the new situation easy enough and would probably embrace it. Wales however...that was a different story all together. He was so scared because he was running the risk of losing Wales all together by giving so much of himself to Scotland. He was running the risk of Wales hating him. God only knew what he would do if Wales started to hate him...he just wouldn't be able to function. He dipped his head into his hands as he felt a wave of nausea take over. Scotland glanced at his love briefly as he drove his 4 x 4 onwards. He ran a hand through the younger man's silky corn coloured locks.<p>

"Dornt worry. They will understand. Cari will understand..."

England looked at the flamed-haired man.

"You cannot guarantee that...I could lose him, Alas...and you know what?"

Scotland glanced at England once again after looking at the road. His eyes were alight with worry.

"What, luv?"

England's mouth became a hard, straight line etched into his face and his eyes were solemn.

"The thought that I could lose Cariad scares me more than anything this bloody world can throw at me or has ever thrown at me..."

Scotland grimaced but tried to be optimistic and reassuring.

"We'll just haftae see wornt we?"

With that they drove the last five minutes and parked just outside the garage, bot being bothered to park inside it. When they entered the familiar, cosy home they were greeted by a tired yet annoyed looking Ireland. His delicately handsome face was contorted into a scowl and his eyes simmered with jealousy. Scotland supposed that the family were going to start being difficult early. England seemed to shrink even more under his Irish brother's heavy gaze.

"'Tis really nice ter 'av yer both back...Al' together an' al' dat..."

"Weel wi' that look oan yer face Ah woods think that whit ye jist said is a pack uv lies..."

Ireland narrowed his eyes and his glare became venomous. Scotland pushed England behind him as he recognised the stirrings of a familiar and savage fire begin to ravage his younger brother. His attractive face became tinged with colour as his temper short-circuited. Ireland tried to take a deep, calming breath but it shuddered with the strain and effort. He decided to compromise with himself by spitting out his words caustically but with a restraint that both he and Scotland found infuriating.

"_Don't put words into me gob, yer bastard_. Don't git me wrong, Oi'm 'appy for de both av yer cos de sexual tension wus gettin' _ridiculous_."

At that both Scotland and England blushed slightly. The Irishman scoffed and carried on.

"But de _minute_ yer feck up Scottie..._I'll 'ave yer_. Basically, Oi don't nu 'ow dis foive plus people relationship is gonna work but as lang as yer don't monopolize de fella, don't break 'im or his wee 'eart then we won't 'av a problem..."

Scotland leaned downward ominously so that he was invading Ireland's space in a show of dominance. He hissed his words.

"Weel, if that's th' case then Ah suppose yoo'll _never_ have a problem wi' me then coz if Ah was _ye_ Ah wooldnae worry aboout_ me_ dooin' those things..."

Ireland squared up to the taller male and returned his glare with a fearless defiance.

"We'll jist 'av ter see den won't we?"

Scotland snorted at the comment but did not reply. Ireland, satisfied that his eldest brother understood, looked at England who was still behind Scotland and clinging on to his shirt. He smiled sweetly at the blonde.

"Nigh, Art'ur, cum 'ere. Ah've missed yer pure much yer nu?"

Even though England returned the smile awkwardly at first and was rather hesitant, he couldn't help but smile at Ireland genuinely after a short while and make his way over to him. Ireland's smile stretched and became laced with a sinister tinge and his eyes briefly lit up with malice at the sight of Scotland's crestfallen expression when the blonde left his side and England's lack of major resistance to his call. As soon as England got to the older man he was embraced gently but possessively.

"I've missed you too, Patrick..."

Ireland chuckled musically and held England loosely in his arms whilst resting his forehead on England's. His voice became huskier which strangely only seemed to heighten its musical quality.

"Really nigh? Oi find dat 'ard ter believe since yer must 'av been..._busy _ter say de least..."

Ireland smirked when the Englishman's face reddened with embarrassment. He tilted England's chin upwards and kissed him sweetly. He could feel England's face heat up dramatically but the younger man made no move to push Ireland away besides a small keening sound. Ireland opened his eyes briefly to see Scotland fuming but doing his absolute best to restrain the envy and anger that Ireland knew was just dying to rip him apart and reclaim England. He thought it best not to fan the flames of his brother's fury however; especially since they hadn't even _seen_ Wales yet. He pressed the his lips to England's firmly once more, licking and nipping at the younger man's bottom lip briefly, before letting him go with a pleased smirk. Ireland whispered the first two parts of his next sentence in England's ear but then moved away from the smaller man to speak aloud so that Scotland could hear too.

"Still as sweet as ever, Art'ur..._God_, Oi could take yer now Oi could...Cariad's in de livin' room an' North's visitin' 'is Aunty Mann for a day or two 'til dis whole tin' blows over slightly..."

England gulped and, despite his trembling form and flaming face, moved quickly to hold Scotland hand to calm his nerves. Though the older man was still a tad put out by Ireland blatantly taunting him, he held on to England's hand firmly in a show of support as they entered the living room. England called out to his twin

"Cari...Brawd...ydych chi yno?" _(Are you there?)_

England and Scotland found Wales casually sitting on the sofa looking just as dangerous as a natural disaster waiting for the trigger needed to destroy everything in his way. As soon as he saw his twin, his demeanour brightened instantly especially since he spoke in Welsh.

"Ah! Arthur! Rydw i mor falch eich bod yn ôl...huh?...Scottie hefyd?" _(I'm so glad you're back...huh?...Scottie also?)_

Any happiness or confusion evaporated as soon as he saw England and Scotland's intertwined hands and their anxious expressions. England's breath hitched when he saw Wales' expression for he looked just as distraught as when he first saw England and his army first march into his lands to invade and conquer him. He hung his head lowly and his tone was bitter. It cut England like a lemon-soaked knife

"So, it's true then...you and him and the rest of us...everything..."

England let go of Scotland's hand and tried to reach out to him but the dark-haired man batted the offending limb away. When he looked back up his eyes were watering and his pretty face was contorted into a vicious sneer.

"Don't touch me!"

England flinched back with hurt.

"Cari, we came back to tell you...we had to tell you about this..."

"Ye have a reit tae knoow..."

Wales seemed to anger even more. It was tearing both Scotland and England apart because he was just such a mellow nation. He chuckled humourlessly.

"Just look at how you pity me! Do you not care about how I feel at all, England?"

England's eyes widened as did Scotland's. Wales _never _called family by nation names unless it was absolutely necessary or he was at breaking point with rage. Ireland merely watched and waited at the door way.

"What use would fucking pity be now Cariad! And you _know_ how much I bloody care!"

Wales shouted out with vitriol as he moved forward to grab England by the shirt. Scotland moved to separate them but was stopped by Wales.

"You don't care enough! Don't you _dare _get involved you fucking arsehole or I swear to God I'll make you'll regret the day that you came into fucking existence! And you..."

Wales returned his toxic gaze to England.

"Would you like to know why I think you don't care?"

When he was met with a stiff upper lip he blazed on regardless.

"_Of course you fucking would!_ I was the first nation you ever married and yes I fought back but I surrendered everything to you didn't I? Didn't I, England!"

England held the man's gaze.

"Everything...I gave you _everything_! I almost lost my entire language for you, I lost my people in wars for you, I let you have me time and time again didn't I? And for what?"

England looked at his twin guiltily but still remained silent. Tears began to stream down Wales' face.

"I love you so, _so much_ but still you push me aside. All I want...all I've_ ever_ wanted was for you to just _look_ at me...don't you think I deserve to be a bit selfish once in a while too?"

Scotland's fists balled up in frustration at the same time Wales tightened his grip on England's shirt.

"I deserve it too, England. You always take me for granted and I don't know how long I can cope with that any more."

England raised his hands to cup Wales' face, a sad smile on his face. Wales blushed and instinctively tried to nuzzle closer to the familiar feel of his love's hand's on his heated skin.

"You're right, love. You're right about everything you've just said. But please, Cari, don't shut me out now..."

Wales seemed to stare at England for what seemed to be an infinite amount of time but then he began to shake his head. He looked back at England with cold eyes.

"You know what? I can't stand to see your fucking face right now..."

With that Wales shoved England to the floor and strode purposefully out the room to get to his own room. After a couple of minutes, the three remaining brothers could hear Wales slam his door furiously.

Scotland moved to help England up but the younger man had already gotten up.

"I have to go to him...I have to clear this up...both of you just stay here..."

Scotland looked at the younger man with desperation but decided it would be best to leave him to it. England looked to Ireland, his eyes pleading. Ireland heaved a sigh but then smiled at the younger man.

"Oi suppose Oi'll 'av a wee blather wi' Scottie aboyt 'ow dis is al' gonna work whilst yer blather wi' Cari..."

England nodded and began to make his way to Wales' room. He guessed that his twin would have locked the door but decided to try the door knob anyway. He tisked in exasperation when he found it was indeed locked.

"Cariad! Open the door!"

When England received no answer he began to knock on the door.

"Please Cari...please..."

After ten minutes of being ignored he decided to resort to more underhand tactics. He took out a bobby pin that he usually kept in his pocket and began to pick the lock. As a gentleman, he would usually never condone such behaviour but desperate times were calling for desperate measures and old habits came in handy often. He managed to get the lock open but when he got inside he found that his twin was nowhere to be found. Panic surged within him and his breathing became shallower. When he saw that the large window at the other end of the room that lead to the balcony was wide open he bolted to it, a thousand terrible thoughts running through his mind. He looked around wildly.

"CARI? CARI!"

The only thing he could hear however was the sound of his own harsh breathing. Wales wasn't on the balcony and England couldn't see him down below. As he racked his brain trying to figure out where on Earth his twin was, he heard a soft sniffling sound above him. It hit him then; his twin was on the roof.

"Fuck..."

He looked around for a ladder since every room on the second and third floors had one in case they needed to get on to the roof but he couldn't find one. When he looked up, he saw that his dark-haired twin had pulled his ladder onto the roof with him so that no one would be able to follow him. He gritted his teeth as he remembered that he wouldn't be able to get to the roof without a ladder because North had lost the key to the stairs that led to it. He then figured out that there wasn't a great distance between the balcony and the roof. He grabbed at the aged rocks and began to scale the wall. He thanked every God he could think of that nations were blessed with strength and coordination that surpassed that of humans but it was still a very hard task. He could feel himself slipping at times as he desperately held on for dear life. When he reached the top, he hoisted himself up with a final burst of energy and was panting lightly as rested for a minute on bended knee.

He looked up an saw his twin looking out into the sun set. The man had his knees brought up to his chest and his arms, though they rested on his legs, were tense. His head was resting on his arms and fat tears were rolling in seemingly endless torrents down his face. His sobbing and sniffling pulled on England's heart strings.

"I should've known you wouldn't leave me alone..."

Wales had turned the full force of his broken gaze on England, he normally bright emerald eyes dull and sad. Wisps of his hair that were too short to remain tied in his blue ribbon fluttered gently in the wind. England stood and made his way over to his twin carefully.

"Of course I couldn't...I would _never_ leave you alone like that..."

Wales let out a broken sob and turned his face away whilst curling into himself more as if trying to defend himself and his heart from England.

"I don't see why...just leave me be..."

England sat down next to his twin and reached a tentative hand out to rub his shaking back. He sighed quietly in relief when he wasn't shoved away.

"Do you really think that little of me?"

Wales snapped his head around in frustration.

"_I'm beginning to, Brawd!_...I'm beginning to think that you'll see me as nothing more than a love-sick fool that you can overlook no matter what I do and that _hurts_ me, Brawd, especially since that's the _last_ thing I want or expect from you."

England raised his hands to cup his brother's face.

"Well_ don't_ think that! Don't you_ dare_ think that because it's not true and it never bloody will be..."

Wales' eyes began to flutter close but he shook his head slightly to signal his disbelief.

"It's because I've never been as special to you as Scottie, Paddy, Seamus, or that American boy even though I was married to you before any of them were joined to you, isn't it? It's because I'm your twin isn't it? Those _must_ be the reasons why you never seem to take my feelings for you into account because I've done _nothing_ but give you my heart...a heart thunders for you so harshly I can barely breathe when I'm around you..."

England wrapped his arms around his twin as the Welshman began to tremble violently with emotion.

"Cariad, listen to me! You _are _just as special to me as they are! None of this changes how I feel about you! I still love you even after all this time you stubborn twit!"

England despaired when he felt more tears seemed to flow down his twin's face. The sensitive man began to weep as he threw his arms around England. The blonde felt his heart crack when his twin let out the most sorrowful, grief-stricken cry he had _ever_ heard directed at him in recent history. A cry that made him cuddle his twin to him as if he was going break in his arms.

"I never asked for this, Brawd!..._God, I never asked for this!"_

Wales was completely torn between belief and disbelief yet he held on to England for dear life anyway. His head was telling him to run away from the man in front of him because he was dragging him through thorns, but his heart was beating thunderously for that same man. His heart was telling him that though England may be dragging him through thorns, it couldn't help but find pure white and blood red roses on the way. England's hold on his twin tightened as words seemed to spill from his mouth.

"Tell me...Tell me what I can do to convince you that I love you..._Tell me how, Cariad_..."

Wales moved from the embrace to look into England's eyes and he saw turmoil. He saw despair and longing and he found that his wretched, traitorous heart couldn't sustain his previous levels of anger any more.

"Cariad, you said you wanted to be selfish and now is your chance. _Tell me what I can do to convince you that I love you_..."

Wales snapped out of his reverie and handed his rational thinking, his senses and his ability to function over to complete instinct.

"You...you are a _Devil_..."

He moved forward and smashed his lips against his twin's, pressing on demandingly and stubbornly. England's eyes widened with shock but then they closed sluggishly as he responded fervently. Wales moaned deeply as he brought smalls hand towards England's shirt to undo the buttons. At this England disconnected the kiss, realising his his twin's wish.

"Is_ this _what you really want?"

Wales gazed at his brother lustfully as he nodded, his eyes glazed over as he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Convince me? If you want to _convince_ me, Brawd-"

Wales pushed England backwards and settled atop him. He bent his head downwards to nip at England's ear and his hips began to grind downwards sluggishly.

"If you want to...convince me that you _'love' _me so much, then make love with me..._just like _you do with...Scottie or even Paddy...Take me_ without _using me..._see _me and give me the love that I _deserve_...the love that I _crave _from you more than the air I breathe now..."

England raised himself and pushed Wales backwards so that he could lie between his spread legs. He looked at Wales seriously.

"I'll show you how much I cherish you but I won't make love to you...not like I do with Alas or Patrick."

He could see Wales' become slightly more distressed but before the other man could sob out he pressed a finger against his lips to shush him.

"I can't do that Cari because you're a completely different person and you deserve more respect. I'll still make love to you but in our own way...I'll love you the way you want me to, not how you think I want to..."

The Welshman began to cry harder at England's words and he believed him. He sincerely believed him as he reached his arms up to drag England back down for a kiss. What they were doing was so wrong on so many levels but as he wrapped his arms and legs around England and as he raised his hands to grab at England's hair in ecstasy, he didn't care in the slightest. He typically disliked selfishness as a quality but after being starved he was taking everything he could with a passionate fervour. He wined in displeasure when England raised himself to break the kiss, smiling softly down at him.

"I love you and I am going to treat you right. That means I'm not willing to take you on a roof..."

Wales chuckled at England's suggestion but found it endearing. Though they were both fully aroused, they both went back to Wales' room by putting the ladder back so that they could climb down the easier way. Clothes were shed eagerly as Wales wanted to feel England's skin against his own. He wanted to feel that heartbeat unite with his in one ear-splitting pulse. They collapsed on the bed and Wales felt his desire to be taken increase. He wanted to be filled to the brim both physically and emotionally. He wanted England to show him how much he cared and he wanted to be lavished with attention.

And it was attention he was thoroughly lavished with. England's lips and gentle hands roamed freely over every inch of skin he could possibly get to and by the end of his ministrations Wales was a panting, sweating mess of a man; and he loved it. His hands would run themselves through damp corn-coloured locks as he held England to his chest. His spirit felt alive and loved. When England pushed him down onto the bed, as he had tried to get on top of the blonde, and serviced him, he felt himself turning into seven different shades of red but to England they only served to make Wales all the more radiant.

England looked down at the beautiful man who was panting and writhing under him and blushed, wondering if he looked just like him when he was being made love to by Scotland. He realised then why the man looked so much in awe of him for Wales looked more stunning than ever. He remembered his mother explaining to him that when one is loved so completely and so purely then their soul can't help but shine through; allowing their inner beauty to reach its maximum potency.

England suddenly felt a pang in his chest as he remembered two particular opinions that he had held for centuries and continued to hold into the present day. That Wales was just too pretty for his own good and that the Welshman was much to good for him. However his twin's facial expression made England believe that he was good enough for him. That he must be good enough if someone as wonderful as Wales loved someone like him so much. He loved his twin so much it should have been impossible but the simple fact that Wales finally believed that he did made his heart soar.

When he became physically one with Wales, the cry of pleasure that erupted from the dark-haired man's throat was just as melodic as his singing if not more so. England felt a crushing desire to make the man sing like that into the night and even into the day. He wanted to hold his twin in his arms until the man was completely satisfied. He groaned as the Welshman's nails began to drag down his back in an effort to cling on. Wales' hair, that was tied up with a blue ribbon before-hand, had come completely loose and it was flowing all around his head and shoulders, creating a shadowy frame that was a stark contrast to the white pillows and his flushed face. To England, Wales was probably one of the most innocent looking nations but with his constant grinding, flushed face, glazed eyes and his dark hair England could swear that this innocence was tinged with sin.

"Brawd...mwy...os gwelwch yn dda..." _(Brother...More...Please...)_

England could feel sweat dripping down his body with every thrust and the room became hot and steamy.

"Unrhyw beth i chi, fy nghariad...fy Cariad..." _(Anything for you, my love...my Cariad...)_

Wales wrapped his long, lithe legs around England in an effort to bring him closer than physically possible. He couldn't have been happier because, for a while, he felt like the most precious treasure in the world and England was making good on his promise to him. He knew that he was important but it was do lovely to be shown this love in its purest form.

"Dy garu di...mwy na bywyd ei hun..." _(Love you...more than life itself...)_

England smiled tenderly at the man he was making love to.

"Ac yr wyf yn dy garu di..." _(And I love you...)_

They remained like that through the night as England found time and time again that his twin's appetite was just as insatiable as his. Brief feelings of guilt would grip him when he remembered that Ireland and Scotland were still downstairs doing God-knows what, but they were set aside for the marvellous Welsh personification who he was lucky enough to have as a brother, friend and lover. When they had finished due to exhaustion, Wales sighed in bliss.

"Arthur?..."

England, who was laying down with Wales curled into his chest with his hand at his heart tracing words and little shapes, looked down at the Welshman.

"Yes, Love?"

Wales blushed prettily and he smiled shyly. He entwined their legs more, desperate to get rid of any distance between himself and England.

"Thank you..."

England couldn't help but blush right along with him. Really, the whole world considered him as stubborn as an old mule but in situations such as this he was completely defenceless.

"F-for what, Cari? I was the one who made you so upset in the first place. I never learn do I? I treated you badly these past few months..."

Wales raised his head,

"Yes you made me upset, but it's alright now...you allowed me to be selfish and I think that's the _loveliest_ thing anyone has ever done for me...and it's all the more lovelier because it's _you_..."

England smiled nostalgically.

"You never fail to remind me just why I called you 'Cariad' when you asked for a human name...you're such an endearing creature...you're such a sweet, loving man..."

Wales hid his face in embarrassment.

"Jesus...Just stop it!"

England chuckled and raised Wales' head so that he could look at him.

"Aw, don't hide your pretty face, love. I don't say these things to you as often as I should because you deserve to be told how amazing you are every day. Believe it or not you have me wrapped around your little finger.-"

To emphasise the point, England picked up Wales' hand to kiss his fingers, giving a sly lick to the little finger. By this point Wales' face, ears and neck were engulfed in a rosy hue.

"I'm completely enamoured with you, you stunning, kind hearted, gentle creature and you fail to see it. For over two thousand years, despite things that have happened that none of us can change, you have been the one constant in my life. You have seen what's inside my head and heart and you still love me despite my numerous flaws. God only knows what would have become of me if I didn't have you..."

Wales leaned up to kiss England delicately and chastely.

"I could never hate you. I have told you that before haven't I? No matter what happens I will never leave _you _because after everything I still love you so, so much."

The blonde tightened his hold on the similar sized man in his arms. He felt calm and at peace though he knew he would have to have a talk with Ireland, North and possibly Mann for he knew how much his sister cared about all of them. He replied with sheer earnestness.

"Thank you Cari, thank you so much my love..."

Wales smiled and returned to his original position nuzzling England's chest. The both fell asleep within minutes of each other as the sun began to rise on the horizon. When they had woken up, gotten washed and dressed, Wales and Ireland decided it would be best to go pick up North from the train station that was only around an hour away whilst England had a talk with Scotland who looked like he hadn't slept at all. Ireland only went on the condition that he and England would have a much needed talk before he went back to Ireland since he was only visiting. England saw both men off and then went to find Scotland. When he did find him, it was in their back garden under the shade of the large oak tree by their pond. The summer breeze ruffled his hair and clothes and there was a pleasant heat. The older man was surrounded by an array of flowers and England couldn't help but smile at the image as he approached his love.

"Alas..."

Scotland's head snapped up but when he saw England he bowed his head low and any words seemed to die in his throat. England crouched down in front of the Scotsman. Worry marred his handsome features.

"Alas, are you angry with me?"

Scotland shook his head and sighed.

"Nae m'dear. Ah'm not mad at ye but Ah suppose...Ah dunnoo...Ah suppose Ah wasnae expectin' what happened last night. Dornt get me wrong, Ah'm sae happy that ye managed tae sort things oout wi' Cari but...Ah guess Ah still haftae git use tae all this sharin' business..."

England gazed at Scotland sadly. He leant forward to rest his forehead on the other man's forehead. Scotland raise his face so that he was nose to nose with the the younger man.

"I'm sorry, my love."

Scotland sighed once more.

"Thirs noo need tae be sorry, lad. We both knew that this woods be hard fer th' both uv us but we'll be fine..."

He reached over to kiss England and was secretly relieved to find that he didn't taste of anyone one else. He tasted just like Earl Grey tea. England moved to straddle the man so that he could hug him better.

"Thank you for being so understanding..."

Scotland chuckled.

"It's nae problem, loove. It's all aboout givin' an' takin'. Noow stop lookin' like yer hamster's died an' let's go feed th' fish!"

England dead-panned but was relieved that the heavy topic was exchanged for a more light-hearted one.

"Firstly, I do not own a bleeding hamster and secondly, only you would be so excited about something like that..."

"Weel firstly, hamsters shooldnae be bleedin' aw th' time an' secondly, uv coorse Ah am, fish are great!"

"Oh very funny Alas! And that's because they provide your country with about a quarter of its income..."

Scotland smirked as he whispered in England's ear.

"Noow dornt git jealoos that ye lost aw them cod wars wi' wee Icelain!"

England blushed with shame but still laughed, happy that Scotland seemed to cheer up.

"I swear I told you not to bloody mention those damn wars ever again!"

Scotland pushed England over, got up, picked the younger man up in a fireman's hold and begun to spin him around. They were both laughing at how they always seemed to end up teasing each other. Scotland stopped and England had to wrap his legs around him in order to support himself. The red-head smiled tenderly.

"Ye pure are somethin' ye ken that?"

England cupped the man's face in his hands, heart beating loudly and the sun seemed to be out-shined by the man holding him.

"You have to be both the strongest and the stupidest man I have ever known. Now, let's go feed the fish."

When North, Ireland and Wales returned home, they found the house to be alight with a joy that wasn't present the previous day. When Wales saw England, he ran up to him to embrace him as tightly as he could. England returned the sentiment with delight. When Wales kissed England chastely, though they felt a pang in their chests, Scotland and Ireland couldn't seem to find it in their hearts to feel any further jealousy or negativity. North was simply happy to find his family looking much happier than they had been for almost three weeks. He thanked God that the issue that threatened to rip his family apart once more was more or less averted. Even the fish seemed to swim more energetically and England couldn't help but feel that if his family kept on getting past all the obstacles thrown at them, then they could get past absolutely anything.

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><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed that! <strong>

**Constructive criticisms and reviews are all welcome! If anyone is unsure about anything mentioned in this chapter then please ask! :D**


	9. The One I Love

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all the reviews and favourites! **

**Just an A/N to say that I might not update for a while because I've got exams snapping at my heels! Not only that but I am putting a lot more thought and dedication into the next two chapters and thus another reason why they will take longer to publish on here. But don't worry, I'll get here! **

**There's a surprise at the end of this...  
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**Disclaimer: Yes, yes I own nada except for my OCs and plot...**

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><p>England was <em>this <em>close to screaming. He could feel familiar, annoyed, _Irish_ emerald eyes burn holes into the back of his skull and he just couldn't take it any more. He turned around furiously from the vegetables he was cutting for dinner which he usually enjoyed doing since that was about as close as he could get to cooking without his brothers, sister, children, nieces, nephews and friends kicking up a fuss.

"Patrick, will you stop that! If you want to tell me something_ so badly _then by all bloody means say it but please, stop staring at me like that!"

Ireland, who was sitting at the kitchen table merely narrowed his eyes to venom-coloured slits as his frustration grew ten-fold in the space of a second. Despite his obvious vexation, he spoke calmly in response to England's outburst.

"Well wee brah'der, if ye wud jist give me de time av day we wouldn't be 'avin' dis conversashun nigh wud we?"

England flushed with indignation as he snapped a reply.

"There's a difference between you _asking_ for the 'time of day' and _forcing_ it out of me through intimidation, Patrick."

Ireland raised himself harshly from his chair, pushing the table far from him with such force that it almost toppled over. A blanket that was folded on it slid to the edge precariously. His chair wasn't as fortunate as it met the ground on which it used to stand upon with a deafening crash. Ireland raised his voice in anger, the sound coarse like a discorded melody.

"An' why d'yer tink Ah've needed ter resort to dat, Arthur! Oi'm leavin' for Oirlan' in less than an hour an' a half an' Bejesus knows whaen de next time you'll see me 'ill be, an' yet yer still 'av de nerve ter...to..."

Ireland's furious rant grinded to a stuttering halt as he was overcome with the strength of his conflicting emotions. He wanted to be angry at England but he wasn't all that sure why. He supposed that he was feeling a bit put out that England had promised him that they would have a serious talk about their relationship and yet two days later that hadn't come to fruition. He turned his face away in shame whilst running a hand through his chair. England's voice was forced through clenched teeth.

"I have the nerve to _what_, Patrick?"

There was just something about the condescending tone of England's voice that rubbed the older man the wrong way. Ireland made a 'che' sound as he moved to grab England's wrist, silently glad that it was just the two of them in the house due to various reasons such as urgent meetings for Scotland and Wales. England would have to pick Mann up from the docks when he dropped Ireland off and North, Inner and Outer Hebrides, Shetland and Orkney were visiting the Channel Island twins for the weekend. Ireland pulled the younger male to him and smashed their lips together hungrily. England was taken by complete surprise but then he understood- he still hadn't resolved his problem with Ireland despite making peace with both Scotland and Wales. He could feel his skin burn pleasantly when Ireland began to kiss him passionately without any regard for anything that wasn't him. However, despite feeling slightly guilty and desperate to return the older man's affection completely, he wasn't going to let the Irish avatar walk all over him. He pushed the slightly taller man away to try and get a word in edgeways. The older man's hurt expression made him feel so guilty.

"Patrick, please...we need to _talk _about this first."

Ireland snorted without humour in between pants. Inside he was _seething _but he tried his best to conceal any blatant outward expressions of this burning anger. He was completely unsuccessful; he knew he was by the flash of fear that crossed England's eyes.

"_Oi see 'ow it iz_...Oi nu you're bein' pulled in _at least_ four different direcshuns an' it must be 'ard cos we al' nu exactly 'ow yer feel but Oi wud 'av tart dat we wud 'av talked aboyt _'us'_ a lot sooner..."

"Patrick..._Jesus Christ Patrick_...it's better late than bloody never!"

Ireland raised his voice again, this time however it cracked with strain.

"'Tis not as easy as yer feckin' tink, Arthur! Oi nu 'tis not a 'uge sea but dare is _still_ _a God-damned sea_ separatin' our countries an' wi' de state av my economy an' de amount of work Oi 'ave ter do, 'tis gettin' 'arder an' 'arder for me ter cum all de way here te see yer! 'Tis not easy fer yer either since yer in de same fecking boat!"

Before England could reply, Ireland blazed on furiously.

"Dat means dat whilst yer an' de others play '_'appy marriage_', Oi 'ave ter still go on without de wan Oi love! An' ye know whaaat _really gits_ me? That it seems loike you've got _al'_ de time in de whole feckin' _warrld _for de others but no time te spare fer _me_... an' Oi'm so_, so jealous _it makes me_ sick._.."

England was struck speechless by Ireland's confession and Ireland himself seemed shocked by what he just said, immediately turning red and turning completely away from England to grab onto the table edge with both hands and lean on it; his back hunched in despair. He had told England that he had loved him before, but never with such fortitude and passion. England had seen jealousy all too often but never so readily admitted by Ireland; the man hated jealousy and always believed that it brought out the worst in people. The blonde's eyes soften in understanding as he laid out the situation clearly in his head.

_'So that's what he was so worried about...he's worried about not seeing me...seeing all of us for months on end...he thought that I would forget about him or give up and just concentrate on the others...My God...He thinks that I don't love him...And now, to make matters worse, he thinks that he's shamed himself...'_

England approached the embarrassed Irishman with a bit of caution but, when he found that the other wasn't going to react negatively, he moved to embrace the man. Ireland's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed but he soon he straightened up slightly to lean back into the embrace. One hand moved from the table to hold one of England's hands lightly. His heart was beating wildly and his head was swimming with so many different thoughts and emotions. If you had told him around a century ago that he would have been so docile around England and so demanding of his time he would have laughed as if a great joke had been told. There was no denying that for centuries he was attracted to the younger man but he wouldn't have said it out loud. As much as he told Scotland to go for it, he realised that the prospect of leaving yourself so vulnerable to someone you consider so important was a nauseating experience at best. England spoke softly and reassuringly, bashfully nuzzling against Ireland's strong back and kissing the space between his shoulder blades.

"_You know _I love you too, Patrick...you know that _instinctively_ so I don't know where you got this _ridiculous_ idea that just because there is a sea separating us then I'll suddenly not care about you or miss you...you could be anywhere in the world and it wouldn't matter...it wouldn't _matter_, Paddy, because you will always be in my thoughts..."

England affectionately tightened his hold on the man and Ireland listened attentively.

"...And I'm _sorry _that it's had to come to this but...but we've only been on good terms for a couple of months and I don't want to rush things with you because you're _so_ precious to me...and I can't even bare the _thought_ of losing you again..."

Ireland's face was set ablaze at the sound of the Irish form of his name and the words that England spoke. He supposed that he had nothing to worry about but he still couldn't help but feel that he had been given the short straw. Even though he once fought tooth and nail to be an independent country, that didn't mean that his heart didn't ache at the prospect of constant separation. I never meant that he had ever stopped loving his family. He turned around in England's arms and wound his own around the slightly smaller man. He licked his lips in both anxiety and anticipation of what he was about to say and the reaction it would bring. He gulped and prayed that it was inaudible to England.

"Whaaat if yer don't nade ter worry about rushin', Arthur?"

England raised his head in order to look at the Irishman in confusion.

"Huh?"

Ireland breathed in deeply and briefly brushed his lips against England's, the movement causing his nose to brush against England's which only served to heighten the tension between the men.

"Waaat if Oi said dat Ah've been..._restrainin' _meself from takin' yer dis whole time? Dat every time Oi see yer Oi remember why me 'eart always skips a beat..."

Ireland's hand slid downwards to England's lower back and then his full hips. The younger man's breath hitched and Ireland smirked briefly as he bent his head down to kiss the creamy skin on England neck. When the blonde gasped quietly in pleasure and moved his hands upwards to grip Ireland's hair firmly and swooned when he heard the older man groan deeply. Ireland moved upwards to whisper intimately in his ear and England's hands caressed his face softly.

"_Cum on, Artie_...Give me _somethin' _ter keep me tickin' over 'til de next time we meet...until Oi can 'old yer loike dis in me arms once again..."

Ireland became braver when he heard England's breath hitch. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the patch of skin right below the blond man's ears.

"Oi nu you're Scottie's first an' foremost but...but will yer _at least_ be me fella?" **(1)**

That seemed to do it for England, any worries and any hesitations he may have had at that point seemed irrelevant when confronted with such love, honesty and desperation. He dragged Ireland's head up firmly by the hair and placed a loving kiss upon his lips. When they broke apart, Ireland's eyes were glazed and dangerously unfocused while England looked so sincere and so adoring that it made the older man shudder.

"Of course...of course I'll be your sweetheart..."

A deep possessiveness and adoration saturated the older man's gaze. England sighed with bliss and lazily kissed Ireland's jawline.

"_I want you_...and I want you to take whatever you need from me because..._God_...I'm willing to give it to you...I want you to remember how much I love you until we next meet..."

Neither were too sure about what happened next but suddenly everything was a flurry of caresses, kisses and moans. England found himself hoisted upwards to sit on top of a space on the work-top that was free and he supposed that the Irishman who was lavishing affection upon his neck _really was_ restraining himself the whole time since he couldn't even wait to move to a bedroom. Both their shirts were gone, quite possibly thrown out into the garden or in the chopped vegetables, but England was glad; the weather was hot and his body was burning.

He was broken out of his thoughts by the sounds of a belt unbuckling; his own belt. Looking downwards, he saw that Ireland's nimble hands had already done away with his belt and were currently trying to get his jeans off as soon as possible. The older man brought his head up so that he was nose to nose with the blonde. England closed the distance between their lips as he moved his small hands to cup the obvious bulge in Ireland's trousers. The older man's breath hitched and he had to gasp out when the younger man's hands had gotten rid of his belt and one hand had wormed their way into his trousers to feel him intimately.

"God...how long has it been, Patrick, since the last time I was able to touch you like this?..."

Ireland pulled down the other's jeans and underwear completely and his hand reached to the side blindly to get a bottle of oil only to tip it over after he managed to open the cap. A pool of slick, yellow liquid began to spread over a small area of the counter. Ireland gave up with the bottle and decided to coat his fingers in the spilled oil.

"Too long...me love. Oi'm sorry Oi'm usin' oil but...but Oi'm jist so_ desperate _ter make love ter yer...Oi'm not willin' ter wait any more."

England moved to embrace the man tenderly. Whilst oil wasn't his first choice for lubrication, it would get the job done and he wasn't an advocate of dry lovemaking.

"It's fine you know...now come on, I want you and you know we can waste any time..."

Ireland chuckled sadly but the prospect of separation and having a time limit on their lovemaking didn't extinguished the raging fire in his heart or loins. In fact, it only made him more determined than ever to use the little time he had to ingrain in England's mind the feelings he had for him and to make sure that, even after months apart, England would flush whenever he remembers this day. Ireland trailed his hand downwards to England's entrance and began to rub the area gently, teasingly. The younger man began to whine softly, quite desperate to have the older man within him; desperate to be somewhat whole. The Irishman looked at England solemnly.

"Yer better let me nu if Oi'm 'urtin' yer...Oi want...Oi want dis ter be speshal as possible for de both av us, considerin' de circumstances, an' dat means you're jist gonna 'av ter trust in me..."

England's eyes widened and then fluttered closed when Ireland's free hand began rubbing his thighs and then grazing his arousal with long, slender fingers.

"I trust you...you _know _I trust you...you just...you j-just need to t-trust in me too..."

Ireland moved forward and kissed his love sweetly.

"I do..."

With that he pushed the first finger in and groaned lowly at the heat and tightness. By the time he had added the second and third fingers, his own arousal was beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable in the face of England's flushed expression, his moans, gasps and desire for more kisses. He moved back and removed his fingers, smiling compassionately at his lover when he whined in displeasure. He looked out side into the garden through the massive window that substituted a wall at the far end of the kitchen. He smiled happily as the suns rays pierced the glass and he could feel the pleasantness of the heatwave in England's land.

"I want to love you outside, in the sun where all your flowers grow..."

England became slightly nervous. He knew nobody would see them as the house was isolated and kept within stone walls, but he was nervous because his legs had turned to jelly and he wasn't sure if they would hold his weight. Seeming to sense his predicament, Ireland kissed him reassuringly.

"Oi'll carry ye, but only if yer want te go outside...Oi won't force ye..."

England shook his head.

"No, I want to go outside...and I think...I'll have to take you up on your offer...Oh and bring the blanket on the table..."

Ireland grinned, picked England up bridal style, grabbed both the blanket and the bottle of oil and began walking to the garden. The younger man rested his head against the elder's strong chest, occasionally reaching up to litter kisses and nips along his jawline. Ireland could never suppress the small gasp of awe that escaped from his throat every time he laid eyes on the garden of the United Kingdom. The Kirkland estate was vast and its garden impressively grand but elegant. A couple of rolling hills and trees as old as their family were common features but one of the most impressive features was the river running through the estate that was dotted with a couple of magnificent stone bridges.

The garden was a very typical, but nonetheless very beautiful English garden with a small tea house at the far end. What made the garden really special however, were the sheer amount of flowers that England painstakingly maintained almost 365 days a year. If there was anything that England loved more than his people, country and family, then it would be his garden. It was painfully obvious to all the other nations that the Kirkland clan had very green thumbs and a deeply loving disposition towards nature (as did all nations). Though England could often be considered stiff, his temperament was often very adoring towards his family and this was shown in his flowers; he had everyone's national or favourite flowers. Though his roses were dominant since they were the national flowers of England and America and the favourite flowers of Mann, Jersey and Guernsey, Wales' daffodils, patches of Irish shamrocks and bluebells, Australia's golden wattle's and New Zealand kowhai were common features. England had even planted lilies for France. Ireland's heart swelled in admiration when he saw that England still had Scotland the Island quartet's thistles planted (he would have to ask him later how he made such a harsh flower look so pretty) and that the maple tree he had planted for Canada was still standing strong.

Ireland found a soft patch of grass beside the flowers which was heated up and illuminated by the blazing sun. He put England down but still supported him around the waist. He spread the blanket out onto the floor and softly laid England down, following soon after. He lowered himself down in between England's shapely legs so that they were flush against each other but kept his arms straight so that his upper chest and head were raised. England lifted his hand to stroke the taut muscles in Ireland's back and brought it forward to caress his chest. Ireland's contented eyes fluttered closed under the blonde's ministrations. When they opened once more, Ireland's breath hitched when he saw England's face, bright with arousal and joy, and the sweet, sweet smile that adorned it.

"You're so lovely, Paddy...if only you could see yourself through my eyes...if only you could see how you glow in the sunlight..."

Ireland blushed and moved to slick his fingers with the oil once more. They slipped into England much easier but as much as Ireland wanted to prepare him thoroughly, the way he was moving against him was insufferable.

"Well...Oi'm not de worst lookin' fella in de warld but you-"

Ireland leaned downwards and kissed his love deeply.

"Yer a stunnin' thing...yer beautiful like dis garden..."

England looked bashful for a moment but then moaned rather loudly when Ireland's fingers grazed his sweet-spot.

"Jesus...Paddy..."

Ireland smirked.

"Do yer want me, pet?"

England looked up pleadingly. He forgot how cheeky Ireland could be.

"Y-yes...mmh...please..."

Ireland's hooded eyes took on a familiar sinister glint, the same glint that appeared when he taunted Scotland only two days before. It was as dark as it was sexy. It drove England wild and the beast inside him purred with anticipation because it understood that out of all of the people he was currently having sex with, Ireland liked it slightly rougher. He would never hurt England but he liked to push and push the blonde until he snapped.

"_Oi don't believe yer_. Cum on Arthur...show me 'ow much yer want me..."

England grabbed the older man's hair and dragged him down for a bruising kiss.

"You b-bastard...you're lucky I'm even...letting you...top me..."

Ireland groaned low in his throat but the sound soon turned into a musical chuckle. The red-head removed his fingers and spread England's legs so that he could line himself up comfortably.

"Heh...remember, me dear...'tis yer who's lucky dat yer even git ter be topped by me..."

Before England could make a snarky remark, Ireland slammed into him full-force. Both cried out as white spots blinded their vision. Ireland had to grit his teeth at the heat that surrounded him; he hadn't had sex in years, not since he broke away from the United Kingdom entirely and bid England a bitter-sweet farewell. He realised that being with England so intimately was one of the things he so desperately missed but now the feeling was heightened by the simple fact he was now equal to the man under him. He wasn't under his control any more: he was his own nation.

"Mmm...move dammit...move or I will ride you myself..."

Ireland licked his lips.

"Nigh, isn't dat a thought?..."

He began to thrust shallowly but not harshly. England sighed in bliss as he raised his hips to meet Ireland. Similar grass-green eyes, bright with desire, adoration and absolute sincerity of feeling couldn't help but pore out their feelings in abundance. Ireland movements became steadily rougher as he ran his hands down the blonde man's thighs only to hoist them over his shoulders to get a better angle. He knew he struck oil head on as England cried out loudly in ecstasy. He grinned rather maniacally as he raised himself slightly to press loving, open-mouthed kisses to England's inner thighs and calves; running his lips sensually over the skin. When England reached up to caress his flaming cheek, he held the hand gently and nuzzled it. He turned his head to kiss the salty skin with a lack of coherent thinking that baffled even him. He slammed the hand back down near England's head and entwined their fingers together. He shook his head and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss on England's lips.

"Yer drive me insane yer nu. Oi canny tink straight...Oi canny..."

England smiled through his moans and returned the kiss joyfully.

"Shh, my love. It's OK to lose...yourself in your feelings..."

And that's what both Ireland and England did. They gave up trying to make any sense of their overwhelming feelings and poured all their efforts into making the time shared memorable. England lowered his legs, held Ireland's shoulders and pushed him backwards. He delighted in the surprised widening of those dazzling orbs before he began to move once more. He suppressed a chuckle when those eyes looked close to rolling back into their sockets. His chuckled died down to gasps when those eyes looked at him in awe and an elegant hand reached up to his neglected flesh. Drops of pre-cum ran down Ireland's hand sluggishly. The older man raised himself up and distractedly watched the memorising way England practically bounced on his lap. He bowed his head to rest it against England's shoulder, his hair tickling the younger man's erogenous zone causing him to mewl.

Soon a little cry broke Ireland out of his trance and a sudden constriction around his cock. He could feel himself reach completion; riding out his orgasm as England milked him for every drop of his essence. He also became aware of a hot substance on the skin of his torso. He smiled happily as he saw that England had come too.

As they caught their breaths, Ireland moved to rest his head on England's damp chest and his arms were wrapped loosely around the younger man's waist. England rested his head delicately against the older man's and ran his hands through the matted ginger locks. The blonde began to sing softly and Ireland listened as his sweet tenor drifted pleasantly through the air. At first he was wondering just what songs he was singing because at times he was just so quiet (most likely from bashfulness), however Ireland soon recognised distinct Irish folk songs that they used to sing together or even when they were apart. England sang earnestly, in both English and Gaelic, of hardship, of love, and lastly of reconciliation.

"_Just give me your hand,_ _Tabhair dom do lámh._ _Just give me your hand_ _And I'll walk with you..."_

Matching the lyrics, England reached behind him to clasp Ireland's hand and tug it forward to lay it on his chest. Ireland held on to the slightly smaller man contentedly and found himself singing along. He looked up into emerald eyes so identical to his and blushed when England kissed the top of his nose. He returned the sentiment with a kiss on the cheek and by singing with sincerity.

"_By day and night,_ _Through all struggle and strife,_ _And beside you, to guide you,_ _Forever, my love._ _For love's not for one,_ _But for both of us to share._ _For our country so fair,_ _For our world and what's there."_

When the final note faded into the soft wind, only the sound of their hearts, quiet breathing, the birds and the rushing river remained. Though the relative quiet was nice, both men couldn't help but notice a crushing weight in the pits of their stomachs when the realised that Ireland had been due to leave for Ireland in an hour and a half before England had confronted him. God only knew just how many minutes they had left. Ireland leaned in to press an open-mouthed but chaste kiss on England's lips.

"Oi...i 'av ter go..."

England nodded sadly but he looked oddly resigned and calm; Ireland assumed it was because England was use to people appearing and disappearing from his life and that thought made him rather sad.

"I understand. Now come on, we have to clean up a bit before I drive you to the airport."

With an almost mechanical nature, they both got up and cleaned up, often holding hands. After quick showers, they literally had minutes to get dressed and leave the house. Though England was composed the whole time, inside he was a wreck. Time was passing so fast and he berated himself for all those times he wished that time would just get on with it with no justification for the feeling.

"Oi'm ready, Art'ur..."

England snapped his head up and tried to breathe as evenly as possible.

"A-alright Patrick...I suppose we can go now...erm...I'll be taking the Mondeo since you only have the one suitcase and a rucksack..."

Ireland simply nodded and they both moved to get to England's car. The drive to the airport was practically silent and England found it hard to concentrate on the road with his head spinning with anxiety. He wondered how he was going to tell Scotland about the love-bites that littered his neck and chest, how he was going to tell Wales about why the kitchen smelt of oil and North about how it may be a while before he saw the older man again since both their schedules were so busy and both their economies were crumbling.

England parked in the long stay car park since he was going to pick up Mann from her flight around half an hour after Ireland's. The pregnant silence continued through the red-head checking in his suitcase and until Ireland got to the start of the departure gates. He looked down at his watch and realised that he only had around half an hour before his plane was due to leave and he still had to get passed customs. He looked towards the gate and then turned to look at England with a grief-stricken look on his charming face.

"Artie, pet, Oi- _oof"_

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before a familiar, trembling body flung itself at him. He wrapped his arms around the man tightly and flushed when England pressed a fierce kiss to the side of his head.

"I swore to myself that I wouldn't bloody cry but it's always so, so hard not to when you love someone so much...It's _so hard_ to let your family go time, and time again...I've said 'goodbye' all my life and it never gets easier...but-"

England moved to cup Ireland's cheeks, his hands trembling slightly. True to his word he wasn't crying, but he did look terribly sad. Yet Ireland couldn't have felt more proud of him because with a stiff upper-lip his most beloved Englishman, the embodiment of the country itself, stood steadfast and true with a coy grin on his elegant features.

"Now get going, I don't want you to be late for your flight. Take care of yourself though...and come back to me soon..."

Ireland smiled and held England's lower arms.

"Oi don't care aboyt me flight really...it's dat yer came ter see me aff dat matters ter me. It's dat Oi can finally call yer me fella dat matters ter me...An' don't worry aboyt me, pet...Oi'll always cum back ter you; Oi'm supposed ter always be in yisser thoughts remember?"

England chuckled and with a surge of emotions he reached upwards to kiss Ireland one final time before they separated. Ireland pushed forward firmly, memorising the feel and taste of the other man. England shuddered slightly when the kiss soon turned into little pecks. Ireland was the first to move back, hoisting his small rucksack securely on his back.

"Oi'll see yer soon 'opefully..." England nodded.

"Yes, definitely. Make sure you call me when you get to your House."

Ireland held England's hand firmly.

"Aye...Oi will."

With one final kiss on the smaller hand and a loving smile, Ireland slowly made his way to the departure gates. England suddenly felt quite lonesome when his felt the slightly larger, hand slowly slip out of his grasp until he was left clutching thin air. His hand swung down to his side but he moved backwards and crossed his arms. England suddenly called out the red-heads name. Ireland turned around with a surprised look.

"I love you, you git!"

Ireland beamed jubilantly, eyes alight with merriness.

"Oi love yer too, pet!"

Ireland waved and England returned the gesture before the Irishman disappearing through the gate completely. The former Empire heaved a sigh, rubbed his neck and begun making his way to the arrival gate on the other side of the terminal.

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><p>Around forty-five minutes passed before England caught sight of his beautiful sister. Shining auburn hair was tied into a ruffled side bun with her fringe twisted at the front. She was, for once, wearing her silver-rimmed glasses and England laughed quietly into his hand when he saw that her dressed down but elegant style, gracious face and well proportioned body made heads turn in awe. She had a lightweight over-sized camel coloured shawl over a cream blouse and this was coupled with slim fitting jeans and nude pumps. England had to smile; he always thought the most modest dressed women were often the ones that looked the best. However that was on a superficial level; England knew that not only was this woman pretty, but also had the kindest, gracious and most gentle personality to match.<p>

He saw his sister look around with an almost anxious look since she couldn't see him as he was behind a pillar. She walk on to find a seat in the waiting lounge and England felt that this would be the best time to strike. Quietly and cautiously, he snuck up behind the woman and grabbed her suddenly. She screamed and dropped her suitcase as he spun her around but his familiar laugh made him instantly recognisable. She began to laugh heartily, the sound utterly charming to England's ears.

"Arthur, you fiend! Put me down this very instant! _Arthur!_"

The English avatar eventually did as he was told. As soon as Mann's dainty feet touched the ground she spun around and hugged the younger man fiercely.

"Never do that to me again, you here? Scared the living daylights out of me you did!" England chuckled.

"Nice to see you too, Eleanor!" After pleasantries were exchanged, England picked up Mann's suitcases despite protests of _'Arthur, I can very well carry my own bloody suitcase, but thank you dear!~' _and he offered his arm to escort her as they walked to his car. The two and a half hour drive back home was made longer by the evening rush hour but neither personification minded. England was just happy to have his sister back in his House. Her presence made the usually rumbustious house just that little bit calmer as she made sure that heated arguments or fights were a rarity.

"So Arthur, did Patrick get to his flight on time?"

England stiffened slightly at the mention of the older male.

"Erm yes, sister, he made it with enough time I believe..."

Mann nodded.

"I see. You know, Arthur, Seamus has told me what has been going on...with yourself and the others...I was wondering when you were going to tell me."

England glanced at his sister's slightly hurt expression.

"I was going to tell you today, sister, since it's going to be just me and you in the House for another two days...I didn't want to tell you over the phone or anything like that...wouldn't be proper and wouldn't be very gentleman like of me..."

Mann's expression lightened slightly when she saw he was being honest but concern still marred her features.

"Alright, thank you. I just...I just really hope that you all know what you are doing. Nations have feelings too but I do not want jealously or possessiveness tearing you all apart...not after we've all been moving forward together..."

England hummed in understanding.

"I know what you mean but...I believe that, with time, we'll all be alright...I mean, we're all married to each other so we have to make it work somehow..."

Mann looked pensive.

"But Arthur, neither you or Alasdair are married to France but you know as well as I do that you are _both_ more than willing to indulge his..._sexual appetite_. You are not married to that American boy but we both know you are not exactly being all that honest about your feelings for him...I've _seen_ the way that boy looks at you and how you sometimes look at him...You are not married to Patrick any more but you still let him mark you like that..."

England flushed with slight embarrassment at the mention of the marks Ireland left on his neck but he still spoke with solidity.

"We have all discussed this Mann. It's pretty much an 'open marriage' so to speak...We have agreed that, as much as possible, we should be honest about who we have been with when asked...We know that, at some point or another we are all going to feel pain but...we're willing to go through with it because we believe that the happiness we gain is worth it in the end..."

Mann nodded, willing to accept that arrangement but still worried about just how they were going to avoid getting hurt. She chuckled when a thought crossed her mind.

"Well in that case...prepare to lose one of your lovers because you know as well as I do that Alas will gut Ireland when he sees those marks!"

England blanched, causing Mann to laugh harder, but then he soon began to laugh aswell.

"I know right? Those two foolhardy gits are going to be the most difficult to deal with; they are both as possessive as each other! And bloody hell, you have _the __filthiest_ laugh of any woman I have ever encountered!"

"_Excuse me! _My laugh is _not_ filthy!"

They continued to laugh but then England went quiet.

"Mann, may I ask you a question?"

Mann looked at her brother with a quizzical look.

"Well, you've already asked one, haven't you Artie?"

England grinned briefly but then went serious again.

"How do you feel about all of this? I mean...you've never really mentioned whether or not you have a erm...special someone in your life..."

At this, Mann's face turned to crimson; England could practically feel the heat radiating off his sister's face.

"Erm...no I don't...erm..."

England grinned.

"YOU DO! So come on...whose the lucky sod!"

Mann squealed as England moved to hug her and nuzzle his face against her heated cheeks. She knew he was doing it on purpose to infuriate her.

"Fine, I'll tell you if you keep you eyes on the bloody road!"

Feeling the sweet buzz of victory flowing through his veins, England obliged.

"Well I'm not too sure if you're going to like the sound of this but...but Seamus asked me out on a date when he was staying with me a few days ago..."

England began to choke on his own saliva. He wasn't angry in the slightest, just very surprised. Luckily Mann recognised the absence of anger and sighed with slight relief.

"What! *Cough* How the fuck did that bloody happen!"

"Ermm...well...I don't think you want to know all the details..."

England looked at Mann seriously.

"Sister, I don't wish to pry but did you sleep with him?"

Mann seemed to get even redder.

"OH _GOOD HEAVENS_ NO!"

England chuckled.

"Calm down sweetie. I am just making sure since_ 'all the details'_ can mean many things..."

Mann raised a hand to tuck a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I see how you could've gotten the wrong idea...erm no I was watching T.V whilst he got himself ready for bed and then...erm... he walked into the living room and called my name. When I turned around he had no shirt on..._he had no shirt on Arthur_, and he's never done that before!"

England did raise an eyebrow; it was strange for North to not be fully clothed in any of the female family members' presence (well, unless they were swimming or something).

"Well anyway, he sat down next to me and we started to talk about random things. As we were talking I noticed that he would look at me in a certain way...that he would blush if I laughed at something he said or smiled at him...erm he held my hands and would rub the tops of them so gently...before I knew it he...he kissed me and told me that he loved me...I don't think you want to know what happened afterwards but we didn't sleep together..."

"Ah yes, thank you...I don't really want to know the intimate details..."

Mann smiled briefly but then looked quite distressed. England frowned- distress was not an emotion that suited his normally cheerful sister. He reached over and held her hand reassuringly but concern marred his features.

"What's wrong, love?"

Mann was very grateful for England's presence; she knew that she could always rely on him in such personal matters. She thanked God that she had such a kind family.

"It's just that...he's serious about me Arthur...you raised him into such a kind, romantic man...but I'm just worried about the age gap. Nation age doesn't really matter but the physical age gap is around twelve years! I don't want him to be embarrassed Arthur because...because I really care about him. I don't quite think I'm in love just yet but...but I'm enamoured, I'm absolutely smitten and it's frightening..."

England took a moment to take all the information in but then he chuckled softly.

"Oh you silly woman...he would never be embarrassed by your age! Tell me, do you think he would have pursued you if he wasn't serious? None of us have raised him to be that way."

Mann nodded solemnly. Seeing the younger man's logic. England continued.

"Yes it's quite the age gap but...but if you feel that he could make you happy then you should go for it! Otherwise the opportunity will pass you by and you'll be miserable...And no one wants you to be miserable because you deserve to be happy..."

England turned to look at Mann with a grin.

"After all that's happened to that boy he never had the time or the will for intimate relationships, only passing flings like the rest of us. He's never been married or committed. So for him to ask you out is something special...it means you are special to him. He needs someone like you...so you have my blessing..."

Mann snapped her head up.

"Really?"

England smiled.

"Of course."

Mann had to restrain herself from hugging her brother since he was still driving. Instead she pressed a firm kiss to his hand.

"Bless you, brother..._bless you_..."

England took a deep breath and though he was already missing Ireland terribly, he was so glad to be able to have the time to bond with his sister. Although he was a tad miffed that North never told him about his feelings for Mann, he wasn't at all unhappy. He meant what he said. The woman deserved a man who would make her happy; and he knew that North would do anything in his power to make her happy. Later in the day England would smile as he saw Mann blush prettily when North called her and found that the human saying that _'There is someone for everyone'_really rang true with the nations. When he received a call from a tired-sounding Ireland, his mind took him back to when the made love in the garden and he knew that no matter how far Ireland was, he was always right there with him in his heart. Though they say that 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder' England couldn't help but disagree; his heart could not have possibly been any fonder. In two different places, miles and miles apart, two soft voices sung out into the night.

_'By day and night, _

_Through all struggle and strife,_

_And beside you, to guide you,_

_Forever, my love.' _**(2)_  
><em>**

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><p><strong>I quite like this chapter but please, reviews and constructive criticism is most welcome! And again, if anyone has a question I'm more than happy to answer!<em><br>_**

**A/N:**

**(1)- In this context, the word 'fella' is a colloquialism for 'boyfriend' or 'sweetheart' and 'pet' is a term of endearment. **

**And please don't shoot me for pairing North with Mann . There is a strong history of Irish rule, particularly Northern Irish, over the Isle of Man; the language of the island (Manx) is a branch of Irish Gaelic with a touch of good ol' Scots Gaelic and thus I think that the pairing is quite appropriate! And the older woman is fully entitled to indulge in a slightly younger man! (Well just as long as the age gap is not ridiculously huge and they are both of age and consenting...) I'll do a chapter on their relationship in due course!**

**(2) The song 'Give Me Your Hand' was written at first by Rory O'Cahan in the 17th century. It is one of the most widely recorded traditional pieces of Irish/Scottish music. It was sung a lot during 'The Troubles' by those who wished for piece in Ireland. I think it's very appropriate for England, Ireland and North too. The Gaelic in the paragraphs I've used here means 'Give Me Your Hand'.**


	10. Lionhearts And Little Southern Suns

**HEY EVERYONE!~ **

**Thank you so much to everyone that has reviewed so far! **

**This chapter is dedicated to xx-animeXalchamist-xx who really wanted to see some more of my OC Australia! Hopefully both she and you all like it.**

**Warnings: England getting really sick and thus perhaps a tad OOC and Scott x Eng up ahead!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the OCs and plot!  
><strong>

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><p>England honestly thought he was going to go crazy. He had complained of Ireland's intense stare less than a fortnight before but it seemed as if God still had some sort of grudge against him. It wasn't the happy, animated gaze that Australia was giving him as they discussed trivial but oh so needed topics such as foods, films and which celebrities looked like right plonkers on the red carpet since Australia had made an impromptu visit. It was the gaze of that Koala his son always brought along with him wherever he went that <em>never <em>seemed to be forced into quarantine if it did follow his owner to another House. Then again, England's mind supplied, all the nation's creatures and familiars were able to travel easily to and around any country.

England glanced at the creature once more but the only thing that happened was a definite reinforcement of his already solid opinion that the Koala was possessed by the Devil himself. Yeah, sure, England could admit that when Australia focused his attention on what he called 'that blasted animal', it was as sweet as sugar and as harmless as a newborn puppy. When the Aussie's attention was diverted however, England swore that its personality did a complete 180 degree turn. It became grumpy (America had once commented that it was grumpier than England himself and that was saying something!) and demonic. It had the testiest personality of any living creature that England had ever encountered and it seemed like the infernal fires of Hell itself burned within those coal-coloured eyes.

"Son, have you ever thought of taking that...Koala of yours to Vatican City so that he can exorcise it?"

Australia chuckled, youth shining from his entire demeanour. For the briefest of moments England felt envious even though Australia was, physically, only three years younger than him.

"Naa Mumsy, nothing wrong with me pet Sheila...and you know by now that Old Man Vatican scares the hell outta me! He's fuckin' creepy and with some of the things he goes on about don't even want to touch him with a one-hundred mile barge pole!"

England heaved a huge sigh when Australia began to do an impression of the old nation.

"Now now, son. You can't speak about Vatican City like that but-"

England began to chuckle as he brought a hand up to smother the sound.

"I do have to admit, though I have nothing against his nation, as a personification he is terribly awkward to be around. And that God-awful impression you just did..."

Australia watched his 'mother' laugh from his seat at the kitchen table. Though it was still summer in England, there was a slight chill from the remnants of his winter, that was balanced out by the beginnings of his spring warmth, seeping through his veins yet he couldn't really feel any of it; not when the man who had raised him for the majority of his life was laughing so freely and so happily. An almost overwhelming sense of joy filled him that _he _was able to make England laugh like that. After everything they had been through it may have seemed that their relationship could have soured but, despite it all, Australia was willing to die for the man, that is if he could. He could easily admit that his feeling towards his mother-figure were not always..._healthy, _England's treatment of him was not always..._warm _and England's people were not always _kind_ but he could safely say that their relationship was strong, stable and devoted to the other's happiness and well being. Australia could honestly say that when he saw the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland on a map, he felt his heart ache. For many of his people are descended from his mother, uncles, aunt, brother and cousin's peoples and he was raised for years at a time in the House of the United Kingdom and so it felt like home almost as much as his native Australia.

"Ya know, Mummy, I always feel so, so happy when ya laugh like that because of somethin' I've done...Ya look so...I dunno...you look so much like a mum it's unreal...You're so sunny ya put me House to shame..."

England's chuckling died down and a blush highlighted his defined features.

"Oh stop it..."

Australia chuckled but then his expression turned into one of seriousness. England couldn't help but think that in strange, strange way, the expression didn't quite suit him.

"On a serious note, mum...how are ya? I hear it's just been you in this huge house for the past week or so..."

The question took England by complete surprise and it showed on his face.

"What do you mean, my boy?"

Australia shrugged.

"Can't a guy worry about his mum? Can't I worry about the person I love more than anything in the entire world? Well, apart from my people and his country.."

England still looked rather surprised but his features softened. He rubbed his neck with awkwardness under his son's levelled gaze.

"Is that why you've visited? Because you thought I'd be lonely?"

Australia grinned gently.

"Well...I've had nothing better to do since I got given some free time. Noah wanted to come but he couldn't...and I suppose it's rather selfish of me but I haven't had any quality time with you for a while..."

England looked at his son lovingly. He, too, missed both Australia and New Zealand since he didn't see them as often as he would like. However, he was deeply touched that Australia made the effort to come all the way to England just to see him. He figured that this was what human parents felt every time their children came back home to them safe and happy.

"Thank you so much...That...that's very very sweet of you..."

"Don't worry 'bout it, mumsy."

England nodded in thank and appreciation before he actually answered the younger man's question.

"Ermm...well, son...I suppose I'm OK but not great since the police shot that Mark Duggan fellow; I feel as though something is afoot...something is not quite right but I hope it'll pass after the peaceful protest for him today...It's fair to say that I _am_ a bit lonely. I mean...well Cari, Alas and his Island children have been gone for almost two weeks because of meetings and other events in their own countries. North is with Mann again and I believe he will be staying with her for around three weeks. My children...the Channel Island twins and Canada are with their father, Francis, Hong Kong is practically always with China like how my little brother Peter is always with Sweden and that's about it really. Gilbert's paid me a couple of visit as he's here on business for a while and, all things considered, he's a very dear friend. Really, he's only staying around ten minutes away. But I feel a lot better now that you're here. I'm really happy that Gilbert visits but I'm absolutely ecstatic that you are here. I suppose I'm not used to being alone..."

Australia smiled sympathetically.

"Of course it's hard being alone when you're practically surrounded by the same people day in and day out. But...I'm glad that my company is making you happy...I didn't know if it would make that much of a difference"

England once again looked at his son with incredulity but then hurt clouded his expression .

"Why would you say something like that? Of course your company makes me happy. Surely you know that your company makes me happier than anything in the world because you're my beloved son? You know that if I were human I would gladly give my life for yours in a heartbeat if I needed too!"

Australia in turn was rather surprised by his mother vehemence but decided to answer honestly; he supposed that he was still wary about being punished for lying from when he was a young colony.

"Well..."

England raised an authoritative brow, encouraging the young man to continue.

"But you'll probably get upset by this!"

England gave him an infamous look that clearly stated, 'Does it look like I give a bloody toss?' It compelled Australia to continue.

"I...I suppose I've always felt that you only ever really paid attention to me because of America leaving you...I suppose I always felt second best even though he couldn't possibly love ya any more than I...Never in a million years will he love ya like I do...because after my actual Mother's death...it was you who took the role and even though we've had our rough times, it was you who was there for me for what? Three and a half centuries? That's a long time, mate...and in all that time I tried so, _so _hard to get your attention but I didn't always do it in a good or healthy way...yet it seemed to me and all the other kids that no matter what we did, America would always come first...but it's OK now...because we know..._I _know that's not the case..."

England listened attentively to his son pouring out his and Australia could physically see what he didn't want to happen; England's face became saturated with guilt and sadness. England leant forward to embrace the younger man fiercely.

"I...well...I don't know what I could possibly say to that except...except that I'm so, so sorry!"

Australia smiled gently and returned the affection with a kiss to his mother's temple.

"Calm down will ya? I already said that it's OK. Ya know me, I don't hold grudges for very long and this one has been cast-off for ages now...I love you, mum."

England moved from the embrace to cup Australia's tanned face in his hands and kiss the space between his brow.

"I love you too, Bruce, so very much...and if I hear from you or from anybody else that you have been doubting my love for you, so help you God when you see me next!"

Australia grinned happily, raising his hand in a mock salute.

"Yes Ma'am!"

England began to laugh once more.

"Haha!~ What am I ever going to do with you? Now the, how about some tea and biscuits?"

"Ooh, ooh!~ Yes please!"

England got out of his seat around the kitchen table and made his way to the kitchen table. The two young men began to natter about trivial things once more, quite desperate to move away from their rather depressive topic of conversation. Australia noticed with some concern however, that his former Colonial Master was trembling slightly, his movements stiffer. He tried not to think on it too much; England had said he felt fine only moments before. It became much more difficult not to become more and more concerned when England began to cough throatily however. The Koala began to paw the table, sensing something was afoot.

"Are you alright, mum?"

England tried to brush off the concern rather unsuccessfully.

"I'm *cough*fine, son, it's probably *cough, cough, cough* nothing..."

"No, mum, it's not 'nothing'! Tell-"

Before Australia could even finish his sentence, England suddenly became completely still, a very blank expression on his face. His pupils dilated until his eyes looked more black than green; transforming into desolate voids. A cup that he was holding fell out of his slackened hand and fell to the floor with a deafening crash; the contents spilling everywhere and the cup shattering. The Koala shrieked and England collapsed to the floor before Australia could reach him. He began to convulse violently; his frame thrashing wildly and twitching uncontrollably. Australia rushed to his side, crying out in alarm.

"MUM! SHIT, MUM!"

Australia knew better than to touch a man having a fit. He instead made sure that he didn't crash into anything, he quickly put a cushion from one of the chairs under his mother's head when he raised it suddenly. He knew it was never a good idea to put anything in a person's mouth during a seizure so he just prayed that he wouldn't bite his tongue. Australia bit his lip anxiously as he saw England blackened eyes roll back into his head and spit foam in his mouth. The older man gasped and whimpered and Australia felt utterly helpless.

"Dammit...C'mon mum..."

The fit lasted around ten minutes which would have had serious repercussions for a human. When England finally tensed all over and then relaxed completely in a form of quasi-paralysis, Australia noticed that he was completely knocked out. Trickles of blood spilled down his chin and Australia could feel his temperature start to rise dramatically and could see his mother sweating profusely. He became even more worried when he could see blood seep through his shirt.

"C'mon mum...I'm gonna look after ya, so don't worry...but stay with me...Please, please, please..."

Australia removed his belt from England's mouth. He quickly turned around to his Koala who was sitting worriedly at the table.

"You stay here for now, OK?"

The Koala made a sound of affirmation, understanding his master's command. Australia picked England up effortlessly and quickly carried him into his room as gently as possible. He undressed the blonde and saw a weeping wound forming just above his right hip. He just didn't understand why this was happening until he remembered what England had said earlier.

_'I suppose I'm OK but not great since the police shot that Mark Duggan fellow; I feel as though something is afoot...something is not quite right but I hope it'll pass...'_

Something had happened and if Australia had any hope of helping England properly he had to find out what. He heard England groan in deep pain and moved to wipe sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. He had to fight the urge to bring his hand back from England skin; he was _burning. _He heard 'Scotland the Brave' sound out loudly from England's jeans that were on the floor and Australia rushed to pick up the phone. When he answered he heard his uncle breathing heavily; his voice rather husky with pain.

"What th' fuck's happened, Artie!"

"No Uncle it's me!"

"Laddie...laddie what's happened tae Arthur...what's happened tae yer mam?"

"I don't know, I don't know! We were talking and then he got up but then he started spacing out and before I knew it he was on the floor having a fit! He's got this huge wound on his side and he's not waking up!"

Australia could feel himself panicking slightly when he heard his uncle groan in pain.

"Uncle, you alright Uncle!"

"Yeah I'll be braw, dornt feckin' worry abit me! Ye jist hang oan an' I'll be doon tae th' hoouse as suin as possible. Th' Islain quartit will be comin' doown wi' me tay. Keep that phain oan 'cos Ah willnae be th' only person tryin' tae call Artie..."

Australia hung up the phone after responding to his uncle and found that the older man was right, after putting the phone down it literally began to ring once more. For about half an hour he received calls from Wales who was practically screeching and sobbing in pain due to the very deep connection he shared with his twin, Ireland who sounded as rough as Scotland, North who was struggling with his own feelings of hurt and with helping Mann who seemed inconsolable. New Zealand and France also called in distress. France, along with the Channel Island twins and Canada were taking the first flight available to London, assuring Australia that they would be there within the next hour and a half to two hours. New Zealand couldn't possibly make it in time but sent heartfelt support.

Australia found that it would be almost impossible to look after England for that long without help. He couldn't leave him alone but he needed to get things to dress his wounds with and change his clothes as well as phone England's bosses. He racked his brain trying to think of someone, anyone, that was close enough to help. Then it hit him; Prussia. He rushed to the phone, scouring the contacts list until he found the necessary number. After about ten torturous rings a haughty voice responded.

"Hey Arzur! Vat's up? Feeling lonely?"

"No, Mr Prussia, it's me, Australia!"

After a pregnant pause Prussia answered once more, his tone curious but reserved.

"Oh? Zen, Australien, vat iz wrong?''

''Something's happened in my mother's country and now he's in a God-awful state! He's having fits and he's bleeding everywhere but it's only me here until the family gets here and-''

''Let me guess, yoo vant me to help yoo?''

''Yes! Please will you help him?''

Australia could hear a very, very gentle sound that sounded like a tender scoff.

''Ja, of course I vill help yoo. I'll be zere in around...ten minutes ja?'' _(Yes)_

''Alright, thank you...thank you so much!''

Australia heaved a sigh of relief when he put the phone down however it was short lived as England began to spasm once more. England's voice became stuck in his throat and only garbled, choking noises managed to claw their way out of his throat. Australia could feel the blood in his veins pound against his head as he realised that, on top of the wounds and fits, England could easily choke. He wouldn't die, but it would be highly unpleasant. When the second fit came to an end five minutes later, he gently pulled England to lay on his side so that any fluid in his mouth would just flow out. England began to whimper and cry even though he was unconscious. Australia moved England back into his original position laying back on his pillows and he removed the sweaty hair from his face and held his hand soothingly.

"Shh mum...it's alright, I'm still here..."

He deemed it safe enough to move away from England to find something more comfortable for him to wear. He found a pair of tracksuit bottoms that he noticed were too big for England. When he looked closer he saw that they were actually Scotland's. He saw that there were quite a few items of Scotland's wardrobe in England's room and though he would usually tease England about it, this time round he found himself eternally thankful. Scotland's clothes were bigger and thus were less constricting should England continue to spasm. He took the jogging bottoms and tried to take care of more wounds on his chest by wiping them with handkerchiefs that he had found in a draw by the bed. The man was still burning up, so Australia decided to forgo a T-shirt until his temperature decreased and decided not to put the jogging bottoms on him until the wounds were bandaged.

He heard a knock at the door and rushed downstairs to open it. There before him stood Prussia; snow white hair tousled from rushing to England's home, face flushed and chest heaving. Though he sounded rather blasé on the phone, Australia was in no doubt now that Prussia was sincerely at his wit's end; his renowned eyes, previously a deep ruby red but now tinged to wine because of Russia's heavy influence, were frenzied with worry and concern. In his hands was a full first aid kit, boards and straps for broken bones and oxygen.

"I brought some extra tings und I tried to get here az soon az possible...Vat haz happened? How iz he?"

Australia explained the situation to him as they rushed to England's room and Prussia's face immediately saddened at the state of his friend. He went over to the man and stroked his forehead wit a tissue, removing sweat from his brows so that it wouldn't go into his eyes. He spoke to England softly when he whimpered at the smoke that he was beginning to breath out (signalling that something was burning), much like how he used to do with Holy Rome and later Germany when they were little. Australia's expression softened at this because he wasn't very acquainted with Prussia at all and so it was nice to see such a soft side of him.

"It'z sad...very sad izn't it _mein Freund_? Ven yoo vere razer healthy only two days ago and yet look at yoo now...zese humans don't ahnderstand zat vat zey do impacts on zeir nations...Australien, pass zee kit..._b__itte_" _(...my friend...please.)_

Australia did as he was told and helped Prussia clean and dress England's wounds with careful precision. Afterwards Australia took the time to call 10 Downing Street to talk to England's governmental boss, but he was not please with what he heard.

"What do mean, Sir, that the Prime Minister is on holiday? He doesn't deserve a fuckin' holiday with the state the UK is in now!...Enough, tell me what is happening...A riot? Well then why didn't fucking call as soon as you found out?...That's not good enough!..."

Australia's was furious with the response he received and obtained practically no information. He ended the call and concentrated on changing the bloodied duvet for a clean one from the wardrobe with Prussia's help. Slowly but surely, England became conscious although he didn't recognise his surroundings or the two other nations. After a while he became more aware, much to the others' relief. Still, the smoke continued to trickle out from his lungs and his coughing became harsher. Despite this, both Prussia and Australia truly felt that the worst of the disturbance had passed. They were wrong and they _knew_ they were wrong when they heard a bone-chilling '_snap_' and an anguished _scream_.

"_ARZUR!_"

"_MUM!_"

Australia cried with his mother with every snap and every scream. His bones were breaking; England's bones were _shattering_. The riot couldn't have been minor since buildings and land were being destroyed. The two healthy nations rushed to stabilise the man.

"Arzur, yoo have to tell me, vere doez it hurt? Vat iz breaking?"

Through his pain and tears, England managed to grit his teeth and speak clearly.

"My ribs...Good God my fucking ribs!"

"_Australien_, I need yoo to hold him down! Hurry!"

Again, Australia did as he was told as Prussia moved to connect England to the oxygen when he started to become short of breath due to the pain. Australia left briefly when England had calmed down and brought back ice to rub on England's chest to reduce swelling, water and a bucket in case the man was sick. There was no point in calling a doctor because England's body would heal and re-heal him to _perfection_ as many times as need be. The nations discovered centuries ago that the only imperfection that a nation's healing capabilities were not able to amend was scarring.

Prussia wrapped England's chest so that the breakage was at less risk of becoming even worse. England was thankful because it meant one less worry. It was slightly uncomfortable at first but he got used to it. Prussia instructed against even the slightest of movements as they could damage his ribs further and puncture something. Prussia gave him some rather strong pain killers that made the blonde quite drowsy. When England's breathing became less laboured, Prussia removed the oxygen. Even when the ribs were sorted complications still happened. England wounds needed to be re-bandaged several time before the bleeding stopped.

"Bruce...Gilbert...The bucket...eugh...give me the damn bucket!"

Australia practically thrusted it into his mother's hands and grimaced sympathetically when England began to vomit violently. He could see blood and jet-black soot mix in with the vile yellow fluid. Prussia left briefly to get some mouthwash. When England finished vomiting, he gladly took the mouthwash and was thankful to be rid of the awful after-taste of his inner fluids. He slumped back against his pillows completely exhausted. He didn't know who would come first out of his family but he hoped they came soon; Australia and Prussia desperately needed to rest as well.

The second arrivals at the house were France, Canada and the Channel Island twins who had also brought supplies. They were updated by Australia.

"_Angleterre__!_" _(England)_

"_M__è__re!_" _(Mother)_

England smirked tiredly,

"Oh good God, I will _never_ get better with Frog Face around...but...but maybe the...children will...balance that out..."

France released his held breath in relief as he sat down on the bed and held England's hand gently.

"_Mon seigneur...merci..._I 'ave been so worried, _cher. _But zat _awful_ personality reassures me!" _(My Lord...Thank you...dear)_

England chuckled but the pain became too much and soon he was coughing fitfully. Jersey took the bucket and bravely took on the task of cleaning it so that it was reusable. He also figured that there should be more than one bucket and sought to make this a reality. Guernsey, with her sweet manner and Canada with his gentle disposition helped their father/mother into the jogging bottoms Australia had gotten out previously. Prussia and Australia, or 'The Odd Team' as England had begun to call them, slumped down to rest against the wall as they let the French branch take over but they still kept a protective eye on the green-eyed blonde. The phone rang once more but when France looked at the caller ID, he felt that he had to ask England for permission to answer.

"Who is it, Frog?"

"Eet iz your boss..."

"Which one?"

"Eet iz your _Reine_, _cher_..." _(...Queen)_

"I was wondering when Lillibet would call...pass it here..."

France passed the phone over to the sick man and the room when silent as England conversed with his Queen. He tried his hardest to reassure her but they could all tell that she wasn't very convinced. Nevertheless, she was well acquainted with the inherent stubbornness of the nations. She updated him with information and passed on the good wishes of the entire royal family. When the conversation was over, England sighed but ignored the pain in his chest.

"Fucking hell..."

"What ees it, _Angleterre_?"

"The protest that Mark Duggan's family and friends organised, the one that was supposed to be peaceful, has turned into full-scale riots in Tottenham after a young girl was allegedly attacked by police. Windows have been smashed, buildings have been and looted and burned and they won't stop there..."

England began to shake and sob.

"It's going to get worse...so much worse, I can feel it my bloody _bones_...it's fucking _spreading_ to all around London like the God-damned plague. They are so angry, my people...but it's ridiculous youths that are rioting for anything but a good cause..."

Canada spoke up as he leant forward to kiss his father on the head; moved by his despair and sadness.

"It'll be alright, _mon__père_, because we're all going to be right here with you...helping you and loving you...So don't you worry because you need be strong..._oui_?" _(...my father...yes?)_

England leant his head against his son's shoulder.

"Thank you..."

With that the family tried their best to keep England stable until Wales showed up in complete hysterics. His dark chocolate hair was loose about his shoulders and his eyes were saturated in worry.

"_BRAWD?_ My God..Brawd!"

He had to restrain himself from throwing himself at his twin as France moved so that he could sit on the bed beside him. Wales cupped his face tenderly and kissed him gently. Fat tears rolled in torrents down his face; England's mind supplied that he really was one of the most sensitive nations in existence.

"I'm fine, Cari...Well that's a...bloody lie. I'll be _alright_..."

Wales kissed him once more. He looked at England as if he had grown a second head.

"How can you say that you're alright, Brawd, when I could feel your ribs _shattering_?...When I almost crashed my car because of your fits?..._How can you just shrug that off?_"

England smiled ruefully at his twin.

"Dwi yn arfer ag ef..." _(I'm used to it...)_

As time went on, more and more family members began to arrive starting with Mann and North. The teen had his arm around his lover reassuringly even though he looked pained himself. Mann, though certainly not as hysterical as Wales, was very upset. Ireland stumbled in panting around an hour later. He hadn't expected to be reunited with England so quickly or in such a manner and his mouth became a sombre line engrained on his usually cheerful face.

"Me pet..._me dear fella_...Whaaat's happened ter ye?...Oi leave yer an' look at de state av yer now..."

England reached a hand out to his sweetheart. Ireland brought the hand to his lips to kiss it dotingly and then to his cheek so that he could nuzzle it.

"Heh...you know I've..._eugh_...been through worse..."

Ireland manoeuvred himself around Wales to kiss England deeply.

"Dat doesn't mean dat it becomes any easier te see yer loike_ dis_..."

Again the family tried their best to create a more cheerful atmosphere but they could all sense England's progressively more despondent mood; Scotland still hadn't arrived and England was becoming sicker with each passing hour. By the sixth or seventh hour since he first spaced out, England was in a bad way. The buckets had become his closest friends and sweat dripped down his frame, saturating his hair and T-shirt. He shivered violently despite his raging feverishness, making him even more exhausted. His fever had reached it's highest temperature yet and burn wounds were forming and expanding on his chest. Though his ribs healed, they often re-shattered. He shivered with strain and his voice was raspy; the others knew that he wouldn't have a voice for much longer. It was a gargantuan effort to get England to the bathroom when he needed to go but it was done without complaint. England found that his limbs were becoming numb and his breathing was laboured. Bandages were again replaced another three times. By the sixth hour he had become completely frantic but hardly responsive, eyes unfocused and hazy, and in his hallucinogenic delirium England _wept_ for Scotland, often mistaking Ireland for the older Nation. As much as Ireland tried not to let it get to him, at one stage he had to leave the room. As much as it pained the others there wasn't much they could do until Scotland arrived.

"Zis iz bad...Ve need to get _Schottland_ here..._jetzt_ '' _(Scotland...now)_

Francis nodded at Prussia's assessment but found that they couldn't get through to his friend.

''_Merde..._'' _(Shit)_

''Arthur..._Arthur_, dear what's wrong?''

Mann's concerned cries brought everyone back to attention. England had completely spaced out, his pupils had dialated until the green was almost non existent. Australia recognised the symptoms immediately.

''NOBODY TOUCH HIM! _DON'T TOUCH HIM!_''

A few of the nations looked at Australia quizically but soon realised exactly why he shouted out such a command when England's pupils contracted and then he suddenly began to thrash wildly with the force of his spasming. England's eyes rolled backwards into his head and fluttered. To the man himself it seemed as if there were a million blinding explosions firing off in his head all at once as violence outbroke in his capital. Australia ran as fast as he could to the bed and quickly undid the wrap that was holding him down in place as he knew that the restraining action of the wrap would only make the fit worse. England grunted with effort as his fit continued. With the wrap across his chest removed, it wasn't hard to figure that England's weak ribs were at risk however the nations believed that a fit wouldn't be able to shatter or fully break the bones. Though they prayed that none of the humans would destroy the buildings or the land, their prayers went unanswered. Another loud _'snap'_ echoed powerfully around the room.

A loud commotion was heard downstairs, signalling the arrival of the Scottish party. Scotland stormed in just as another _'crack' _resonated loudly throughout the silent room. His children behind him watched their uncle in horror. Inner Hebrides held on to her twin, Outer Hebrides, whilst tears streamed down her face. Shetland brought his small hands up to his mouth to supress his gasps. Even Outer Hebrides and Orkney, who were usually the epitomes of 'stiff upper-lips', looked visibly shaken. The expected their uncle to be unwell, but not like this. Scotland's baritone voice suddenly resonated across the room.

'_ARTHUR!_'

North and Ireland moved to restrain the larger man when he tried to rush to his husband's side but Prussia, Australia and France had to help when his thrashing became too powerful.

''FECKIN' LET GO AV ME! _ARTHUR!_''

Prussia's warning shouts spoke of sympathy but with an underlying aggression hinting at his nature as a war machine.

''If yoo touch him now, _Schottland, _yoo vill fuckin' _hurt_ him! Und if zat happens, _I vill kill yoo_!''

''AH WILLINAE HURT HIM! HE'S MY FECKIN' _HUSBAND_ YA NAZI _BASTARD_!''

Prussia took absolutely no offence to being called a Nazi; he understood that Scotland didn't mean it in the slightest. However he was going to protect his friend at all cost. The five men struggled to keep hold of the man whilst the family looked on in shock.

''Alasdair, tink av de fella! Arthur 'as _naw_ control over 'is body! Yer man cud feckin_ 'urt_ yer by accident!"

'_'I DORNT CARE!_ LET ME GO TAE HIM! _ARTHUR!_ _ARTHUR!_''

_''Please, mon cher ami! Calm down!'' (...my dear friend!)_

With every _'crack'_ and grunt, Scotland became more and more frantic with worry. The fit lasted for around ten minutes and everyone cried out with relief when it was over. The men let go of a desperate Scotland who shoved them all to the floor and then ran to England's side. The blonde was unconscious but his breaths came out rather evenly yet still very ragged. Scotland didn't care; he was just glad that the younger man was breathing at all. Everyone watched as Scotland became undone by the sight of England and were moved. The oldest nation ran his large but gentle hands over England's face, removing the hair. With tears in his eyes he spoke bitingly through gritted teeth; his entire aura was menacing and enraged.

''Yer all a right bunch o' _bastards_...How _dare _ye keep me from him?...Ah'd understand if was from some random person but...but from me own _husband_!''

Australia spoke up before anyone else. A fire raging behind his fir-coloured eyes.

''We had ta, Uncle...He could have hurt you and the fit could've gotten worse...And just remember, you're not the only one he's fucking married to...We are_ all _upset but we have to do what we can to fucking help him and that sometimes means taking a step back to let things like that run their fucking course!''

Scotland stared dumbly at Australia and the room was silent after his uncharacteristic outburst. Scotland looked towards Ireland, Wales and North and then to the others in the room. As much as his heart ached, he saw the sense in the words. He hung his head and, just like that, his aura became ashamed and upset.

''Yer reit...Ah'm sorry...''

Australia smiled once more and Scotland turned back to England. Behind him, he could hear the family scurry about trying to find medication, bandages, more blankets and clothes.

''That's alright, Uncle...We understand.''

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the next morning that England's eyes began to flutter open. They were bloodshot, dazed and completely unfocused but Scotland and the family were so, so happy. They couldn't sleep with the extent of their concern. Those murky orbs landed on the tall, broad red-head looking down at him with such earnest concern, relief and love with a deep confusion that, in turn, confused the man.<p>

''W-who...are you?...''

Scotland tried not to look too hurt as he understood that after fits a lot of people suffered from momentary memory loss.

''Aa'm someone w-whoo...whoo loves ye very, very much...someone who d-didne expect t-tae see ye sae sick...''

''_Well I'm s-sorry_...but...you look...familiar...like someone...I k-know...He's just as...p-pretty as you...''

Scotland, despite it all, chuckled at England's characteristic biting sarcasm and blushed at his compliment.

"Nae need tae be sorry mah loove...and thank ye..."

England drifted in and out of consciousness yet slowly but surely realised just who was there right next to him. Scotland felt warm when he saw a happy yet disbelieving light shine in England's tired, dull eyes however they still spoke of a profound delirium.

"You...look like...m-my Alas..."

"Aye, lad...it's me..._it's your Alas_...Ah'm here noow sae ye jist sit tight..."

Suddenly England's eyes began to water and Scotland became worried. England took his hand and brought it to his roughened lips. As tired as he was, he held the hand to him as if it were the most precious thing in the world and to him it was because it was the hand of his husband; the man he loved so very much and the very same man he often had not treated well. England sobbed with a pain in his heart that was stronger than his physical pain.

"It can't...b-be you...You weren't here...b-before...You must b-be...one of those horrible visions...t-taunting me..."

Scotland tried to keep calm but England's agitated behaviour was making him anxious. He prayed it didn't show on his face.

"_It's me_, _lad_...I got here a couple uv hours ago..."

England reached his leaded arms up to caress his loves face. An even stronger flame of recognition lit up his frenzied eyes when he ran his hands through the silky fire-coloured hair and touched the smooth skin. The man's emerald eyes seemed to consolidate the connection.

"Alas?..._My Alas_...I c-cried out...for you and...and I waited...b-but...but you never came!"

Scotland bent down and kissed the younger man's cheeks gently.

"Ah knoow but I had tae drive...Ah'm sae sorry..."

England raised his tired arms upward to hug the older man. Scotland tried to hold himself up so that he didn't crush England's already damaged chest. Scotland kissed England's cheek firmly and then began to nuzzle the soft skin of his neck tenderly, not really caring about the sweaty state of it. England sighed in bliss but it ended as a sob as he returned the nuzzling tiredly.

"Mmmh...*sniff*...you're here now...S-s'all that...matters..."

Scotland smiled ruefully.

"Ah'm nae goin anywhere until ye get better..."

After a while, England's arms slackened as sheer exhaustion took him away to sleep. Scotland gently moved his arms to rest at his sides. He took in England's appearance once more and found himself rather speechless again. He looked awful to put it mildly. His usually peachy skin was pale and sallow looking. Huge bruises and burns blossomed along his chest. Prominent bags and and dark circles rimmed his eyes that, when he had looked into them, were bloodshot. A sudden surge of fury overtook him completely and he decided that a phone call was in order. Australia remained by his uncle's side and the Island quartet and the Channel Island twins had, since the previous night, begun to man the kitchen and cook for everyone.

"Mr Cameron?...Ah it has bin a case ay lang time nae see but Ah think it's a guid idea if we keep it that way...Why ye ask? Sae that yoo're face doesnae git smashed in!...Dornt ye _dare _talk tae me like that when th' capital is bein' ransacked by riots that are spreadin' like afeckin' _disease_ an' when Englain is unconscioos in his bed havin' fits, with his ribs shatterin', his skin burnin' tae charcoal an' not knowing whoo Ah bloody am fer th' life o' him! An' yit yoo're at th' Italys' Hoouse!...My point _exactly _yoou should be _here_!...Yeah guid idea ye feckin' arsehole, ye better git oan th' next plane here an' sort thes mess oout or otherwise Ah willnae be very canty..."

With that Scotland hung up on his Prime Minister and began to phone the mayor of London. The conversation pretty much went the same since Johnson was on holiday at Canada's House. He stressed his ethos of _'When you lead a nation in crisis, you do not abandon the land and it's people.'_ He looked back to Australia, who had remained in the room to look after his mother, and embraced the younger man. His voice shook with emotion.

"Thank God ye cameall thes way even though ye didne have tae..."

Australia's facial expression softened some.

"You don't have to thank me for something like that, Uncle...He is my mother and you are my family...I would do almost anything for all of you..."

Scotland raised himself and cupped the younger man's face.

"Nae, Ah doo have tae thank ye cos ye waur here wi' him. He woods have bin sufferin' like thes all alone fer _hours_ if ye werenae here. God bless ye, laddie..._God bless ye, yoo wonderful bairn!_"

* * *

><p>The entire family and Prussia (who had practically moved in) settled into a rather stable routine over the following days. The Island quartet and the Channel Island twins became in charge of cooking and cleaning (poor Jersey was continuously stuck with cleaning the buckets), Canada, Mann and Wales of tending to England's needs in regards to washing and going to the bathroom, France would help him change his clothes and brush his teeth, Ireland would play his violin and Wales would sing to calm England when he became distressed, 'The Odd Pair' tended to England's injuries and illnesses and Scotland took over as head of the UK until England was well again.<p>

Though England's condition became much worse as the riots spread to at least eleven London areas and boroughs and then outwards to West Bromwich, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Bristol, Nottingham, Salford, Leicester and Wolverhampton. Throughout all that time until the eleventh of August, David Cameron and Boris Johnson were nowhere to be seen. Calls of support from other nations poured in but England was unconscious or delirious for at least seventy-five per cent of them. New Zealand called at least three times every day.

By August the ninth, England's body had almost completely failed him. Both his legs and his right arm were restrained by temporary paralysis and his left arm was slowly growing just as numb as his major cities were looted, burned and destroyed. Blows were exchanged between his people and the police and both buildings and buses were burnt to the ground. His temperature at times became so scorching that it was difficult for the other nations to be near him. Due the raging anger of his people, England often lost his temper much quicker than usual. This was demonstrated by his very loud rant at his Prime Minister when he had called to ask how he was. His language was fouler than his pirating years and the rage was blatant. This temper continued when he was informed by the Head of the Metropolitan Police that although it was reported that Mark Duggan fired at police when the had attempted to arrest him on the fourth of August (leading to the police firing at him, which resulted in his death), this was in fact not true. More outrage was caused when England was informed that the reason that the peaceful protest in Duggan's name failed was because of slow police response and because of an allegation that the police had attacked a 16-year-old girl on the sixth of August. He knew that the girl was a teen but he didn't expect her to be so young.

During the middle of the night on the ninth, whilst the majority of the family slept, Scotland remained wide awake by England's side; he simply couldn't risk sleeping when England's condition could worsen at any moment. A quite voice kept him conscious despite his body begging for sleep.

"Alas..."

"Aye..."

"You should...sleep...Can't have *cough*...you getting run down...too"

Scotland smirked.

"Ye know that won't happen, mah dear..."

"Hmph..."

Scotland held England's left hand and he prayed that he could at least feel _something_.

"How are ye feelin' noow?"

England chuckled with mirth but the sound was raspy and grating.

"Do I...have to answer...*cough*...that?"

"Nae...Ah dornt suppose ye dae..."

England looked pensive for a moment.

"Alas?"

"What, lad?"

England sluggishly let go of Scotland's hand and, with some immense effort, hauled it up to the back of Scotland's head. He dragged the man's head forward and he kissed him him sweetly. He was thankful that Francis had been helping him to brush his teeth because he was able to enjoy the pleasant warmth of Scotland's mouth on his. Scotland was rather surprised but he indulged the younger man and tried to be as careful as possible. After a while England move back to disconnect the kiss. Scotland tried to lean forward, seeking to connect their lips again but instead had to settle for giving a firm kiss to England's cheek when the younger man turned his face slightly.

"Sleep...please..."

Scotland growled gently.

"Hoow can Ah sleep when yoo're sae sick an' when yoo've jist kissed me?"

England turned his face back towards Scotland.

"'Cos...you'll just make me...feel bloody worse if you...run yourself into the...ground...I mean it, Alas..."

England kissed him slowly once more, quietly delighting in the deep, throaty groan that rumbled into his waiting mouth. Scotland's mind shut down briefly and all he could think about was how much he loved the younger man and how scared he was when he rushed into the room only to see him fitting like that and having to hear his bones shatter as England's youth ran riot in their cities; their _homes_. It was such a horrible feeling seeing the man he loved in such a state and not being able to help. He had cursed England to suffer like this before when he himself was kept starving in the Tower of London, when England had walked all over him and hurt him, but asking for it to be done, and actually seeing it be done are two very different things the red-head realised. Scotland moved his head to whisper in England's ear.

"Think aboout hoow Ah feel...Ah cannae _bare_ tae see yoou like this..."

England groaned.

"Don't argue...with me...Come...at least sleep by my side...if that makes...you feel better...I, myself...like that option..."

A deep voice suddenly alerted the older nations to a new presence.

"I think that mum has a point, Uncle. I'll keep watch for a while..."

Australia entered the room quietly, his socked feet padded the wooden floor mutely. Even in the darkness illuminated slightly by the moonlight filtering through the curtains and windows, his face was as kind as when the brilliant radiance of the sun shined upon it.

"That...is quite unnecessary...son...You're another *cough*...one that needs...his sleep..."

Australia chuckled lightly.

"Naa, mum. I made ya a solemn promise that I would look after you and I plan on keeping it, if ya don't mind, 'cos you've raised me to always honour promises..."

England made a 'che' sound.

"I should have...known that you would...use something I...bloody taught you...against me!"

This time Australia laughed outright and the sound was very pleasant to the older nations' ears.

"Stop complaining and let me help ya mum!"

England blushed through his high fever but covered his embarrassment with a scoff.

"Oh alright...*cough, cough*...come here...and convince your Uncle to sleep...*cough*...next to me..."

Australia walked over to the bed and gave his uncle a pleading look. England moved his heavy arm so that he could cup Scotland's cheek in order to give him the exact same look. Scotland found that he didn't have it in him any more to refuse. He walked over to the other side of the bed and carefully got in. Australia moved into one of the more comfortable chairs next to England's bed. He held the blonde's more receptive left hand whilst Scotland held the numb right hand. Scotland looked at England with a despairing gleam in his eyes showing that he was almost begging for reassurance.

"Yoou can feel thes, right? Yoou're hand in mine?"

England turned his head slightly and smiled kindly.

"Yeah...a bit...It's warmer than...my hands."

Scotland smiled at England and with one last kiss on his lips and Australia's kiss on his head they all settled down. England stared rather guiltily at the ceiling; he didn't have the heart to tell Scotland that he couldn't feel a thing. Australia knew this and thought it best to remain quiet about it, the phrase 'take the secret to the grave' sprung to mind. Though Scotland slept deeply, England was fitful but he did take great solace in the familiar weight next to him, the warm gaze watching over him and accompanying him in the darkness. The warmth of his son's large hand spread to his freezing one.

* * *

><p>Slowly but surely, England got better. It was one of the worst experiences of his life but when asked whether the London Riots were less worse than the Blitz England had said that yes, the Riots were not as destructive or as painful but they were just as terrifying. These were his own children attacking him, lashing out simply because they could in a misguided attempt to fulfil their our selfish desires. England could safely say that he was ashamed of those that took part in the destruction. He felt really let down by them. What started out as a peaceful protest for justice, turned into chaos. England was terrified not only for the future but for the state of the Olympics. Would his people clean up their act beforehand? Would the other countries take the events off him before they could even do that?<p>

Well some things gave England hope. There were people rising up against the rioters, defending their shops, their neighbours, family and friends, their principles and their most holy Places such as Churches, Mosques and Sikh Temples. Vigilantism was on on the rise and though sometimes it wasn't a good thing, England could sympathise with their plight. What right did some silly youths, some younger than ten, have to cause such misery? He smiled and laughed outright when he felt people from his Turkish, Kurdish, English, Pakistani and Bangladeshi communities began chasing down some mask-wearing youths in defiance of their actions in North and East London throughout the eighth and ninth of August.

It was the fifteenth of August and all of the major rioting had come to an end five days before. Minor incidents still occurred however but England could see a definite end in site. He still couldn't believe that the youth nowadays thought that successful looting comprised of stealing paracetamol, carpets or even Tesco Value Basmati rice. What was even more ludicrous was that most of the youth had taken pictures of themselves with their 'goods' and posted them on what he called those 'bloody facebookie, twittering bird nonsenses on the internet!'

He had regained feeling in his limbs. His bones, burns and wounds had healed (although they did leave scars) and his mind was clear of the insanity that had previously plagued it. He could feel the warmth of Scotland's hands in his.

He was so exhausted, however. So very, very fatigued that he could sometimes scarcely keep his eyes open. He had to admit though, he would take the weariness on for days rather than suffer through one more hour of violent rioting. On this day he had managed to stay awake long enough to drink a cup of tea whilst he sat up in his bed watching episodes of Jeremy Kyle.

"You look so much much better, mum. Hahaha!~ Very soon you'll be back to your usual self!"

England looked towards his Southern son who had entered the room cheerily with a pleasant smile on his more healthily coloured face.

"Well, Bruce, are you very sure that...you want me to go back...to my old, grumpy self? It seems as if you've taken a...great delight in fussing over me whilst...*cough* whilst you could..."

Australia's smile became more reserved and mature in comparison to his usually large, sunny grins but it was still just as sincere and heartfelt.

"I would _hate_ for you to be in that state again but, you're right; I _do _love fussing over you..."

England chuckled and, after putting his tea cup down, reached an arm out to Australia.

"Come here, my darling boy...my Little Southern Sun..."

Australia blushed at the old nickname that England had given him in his youth. He obediently went to England and felt a warmth bubble in his chest when the older man pulled him down to sit with him on the bed. He embraced his mother and then happily let his hands be held by him. After a significant pause, England suddenly looked at him analytically and then smiled.

"Don't you dare change, Bruce...because..."

Australia looked at England with a quizzical look but listened intently nonetheless.

"You have something that is the envy of...of men, women and nations everywhere..."

"What's that, mum?..."

England raised his hand and laid it on the expanse of skin where, just under it, Australia's heart beat steadfastly and true.

"You have...such a_ beautiful_ heart...Coming all this way to keep me company and...staying up all night...*cough* to see me through...After all I've done, I'm rather surprised that my children and my family are such wonderful people...and such fine nations..."

Australia smiled beatifically at his mother.

"Well, after all is said and done we still all have each other. That's what makes us so wonderful, I think, that we are willing to move on and love each other still. We've become so wonderful because our experiences have made us strong and appreciative. And as for the beauty of my heart..."

Australia kissed England gently on the cheek and smiled happily..

"_You should take a look at yours..._"

England blushed but really appreciated the time with his son. He was lucky if his saw him once every four to six months, perhaps more if there are many meetings in the year. Australia suddenly bounced on the bed, drawing a hiss from England's lips to which he mumbled a sheepish apology.

"The family want to know if you want to spend a little bit of time in the garden now that your much better...You know, get some fresh air and stuff."

England could feel a bubble of sudden excitement expand within him. What he wouldn't give to go outside once more! Without thinking of his reputation, he answered happily as his eyes shone with excitement; much like a little boy.

"I would love that!..._Please _get me out of this bloody room!"

Australia laughed heartily and began to help England out of the bed. When England's knees buckled from underneath him, Australia picked him up bridal style and began to carry him. For once, England didn't complain and instead rested his head on the younger nation's broad chest. He took great comfort from the even breathing.

The light streaming into the kitchen made England flinch and when Australia carried him outside it was positively blinding. However it was wonderful to be bathed in the natural light and he smiled as the smell of all his flowers caressed him gently. He could hear the family in the distance, as loud as always.

"They're by the Tea House near the river, mummy, so just stay awake yeah?"

England nodded in confirmation. He looked around as much as he could from his position and he felt his heart swell with the beauty of the nature around him. He could have practically sobbed at the joyous feelings aroused within him just because he was out of his room. It meant he had survived another tribulation in his long, long life. He was still alive and loved and accompanied; the taunting loneliness that had plagued him in his delirium was no longer haunting him. The world seemed to welcome him back and Mother Nature greeted him like a long lost son. He saw his family inching ever closer to him and he felt happy; he was even pleased to see that demonic Koala!

"Arzur! It'z so vahnderful to see yoo ap!~ I knew yoo couldn't vait any more to see ze Awesome me!~"

England chuckled, the sound much less raspy to everyone's delight.

"Oh hardly, Gilbert! I'd be more excited about being locked in a cage with the Frog Face!"

A strongly accented yet seductive purr rumbled from a certain Frenchman's throat.

"Oh _mon petit lapin_, eet's nice to know zat you 'ave finally succumb to my charms and _amour_!~"

England immediately blanched and then dead-panned.

"On second thought, Gilbert, how nice to see you my friend! You can't even _begin_ to understand how much I've missed you!~"

The entire family burst out laughing and even France himself couldn't suppress his amusement despite replying

"Oh _Angleterre_! Why do you always reject mon amour? _M__on cœur est brisé__!" (...my love? My heart is broken!)_

Australia let him sit down in one of the comfier chairs in front of the tea house. Drinks and food were on the table and for the first time in a while, England's stomach rumbled with want and with not disgust. Wales prepared a light plate for him; pancakes, maple syrup, cream and fruit. All done by France and Canada who figured that this was a celebration that fully deserved their culinary prowess. After all, the majority of the nations (except for England, Scotland, Australia and Prussia) had to leave by nightfall; it was a miracle their bosses let them stay for so long. England's cheeks flushed in delight when he ate his first mouth full. Canada giggled sweetly.

"Is that good, Father?"

This time England's blush became tinged with slight embarrassment and, for once he decided to humour his son and by extension France.

"Oui...c'est très, très bien...Merci..." _(Yes...it is very, very good...Thank you)_

Canada giggled in happiness but huge smirks were plastered over the faces of Scotland and France.

"Oh dornt be getting' all shy now!"

"Honhonhon!~ Mon Angleterre doez love me!~ Yoo see 'ow 'ee speaks my language with such reverence!~"

"Shut up, Alasdair! And Francis that wasn't for you!"

"Eet doezent matter! And you know full well ma cher, zat I taught Mathieu everyzing 'ee knows!"

England smirked at France.

"Yeah and made it one-hundred times better!"

France looked as if he had just been denied a lay. His eyes then narrowed and he retorted dramatically but with good humour.

"_Tu est un __bâtard_! As good as Matthieu eez, zee French are masters at cooking!" _(You are a bastard!)_

"Oh belt up, you imbecile!"

"I have to agree with Father, Papa but you're getting a bit defensive eh? Lost your touch have you?"

Canada's smirk seemed to be wider than England and it hit Ireland then, _'That's one way in which those two are similar!' _France looked positively offended and thus started another round of 'debating' where, by the end of it, the whole family had ended up laughing until their sides split. Even the Koala decided to behave and, for once, actually let England pet it.

By the late afternoon, everyone had begun to say their heartfelt goodbyes, wishing England all the best and leaving behind their hopes for his health and happiness. England found himself in Australia's hold once again as he said goodbye to all of them with tears in his eyes, thanking them sincerely for all they had done for him over the week or so. The Scottish Island quartet were the first to go, the long drive ahead meaning that they had to leave earlier. Both Wales and Ireland left sweet kisses on his lips, Wales promising him that he wouldn't be gone for long but Ireland promising him that he would keep in touch until circumstances allowed him to visit again. Wales tried to show a brave face but, much like North Italy, he quickly had to wipe tears away. Mann and North were the second lot to leave, both knowing that, much like Wales, they would be home very soon.

"If anythin' 'appens, _anythin' at al'_, den jist call me or Ela an' we'll both be down before yer nu it. Gran' so?"

After confirming this, North pressed a firm kiss to his mother's temple and Mann to both of his cheeks. The last to go were the Anglo-French party.

"As much as I'll miss you, mon père, I'm rather glad zat I do not 'ave to clean buckets any more!"

England laughed.

"Too right, George! But thank you for doing it anyway, my brave boy!"

After England both Scotland and Australia swatted away France's lecherous advances as a form of 'goodbye', he settled for a rather chaste kiss on the lips for both Scotland and England. He hugged Prussia and Australia and they were gone, but not before Canada embraced his father, brother and uncle heartily.

"_Je t'aime mon père, mon oncle et mon frère! _And thank you so much, Gilbert, for all your help! Make sure you add me on Facebook!" _(I love you my father, my uncle and my brother!)_

Prussia laughed loudly and cheerfully, glad he was able to see his friend after quite a long time.

"I vill, _mein Freund_!"

After the last of the family disappeared, England began to feel sleepy and thus the others felt it best that he should get all the rest he needed to become strong. Australia himself looked like he was about to collapse since he had stayed up with England, keeping watch over him, throughout the entire night. Scotland took England off him and Australia's retired, but not before England grabbed his sleeve.

"Remember what I told...you earlier, alright? And what I said before this all started, _I love you_...and that will never change regardless of whether...or not you do...but I hope you don't because you're my Little Southern Sun; perfect...just as you are and second to no one..."

Australia's smile was stunning then; beatific and warming.

"I'll remember, mum, and thank you...I love you so much you don't understand!"

England hugged him tightly before letting him go. He would be awfully sad to see the boy go in around a week and he was upset that he couldn't as much time with him as he would have liked, but he was still happy.

Scotland took England back to his room and closed the door. He set the younger man back down on the floor after he expressed his wish to walk for a bit. Though he had to lean of the taller male for support, he walked steadily and confidently. He suddenly grabbed Scotland and pushed him down on to the bed, the sudden action surprising the elder nation. England then crawled languidly into his lap and with his remaining strength hovered over him, supporting himself on slightly shaky arms.

"Arthur what are ye-"

The Celtic nation was cut off my a very intimate kiss. As much as he would like to protest, he knew he couldn't refuse the younger. He smiled into the kiss when he realised that England's room was one of the only ones that were sound proofed and Australia and Prussia's rooms were two floors above. He began to unbutton the loose shirt and remove it from his lover's frame. He was extra gentle because even though England had no more injuries, he was still recovering. England didn't mind; he sighed with bliss at the gentle treatment. Scotland carefully flipped them over, England crawled backwards so that his head could rest on the pillow. As Scotland worshipped his bruised body and as he ran his fingers through that fire-coloured hair, they whispered things that expressed their devotion, adoration as well as their worry for the other, _'I've missed you...I love you...I adore you...'_

When Scotland gently entered his love, the sudden feeling of completeness overwhelmed them both. England gasped out, every moan and mewl a seductive lullaby to Scotland's ears. England pulled him down to kiss him deeply.

"This...This wholeness...mmmh...only with you, Alas...I swear...this is yours...Without you here...Without you...ahh...here, I am incomplete..."

The word touched Scotland's heart and increased the carnal, burning need within his loins.

"Aye, luv...this is what makes ye mine...first an' foremost...this...is why _av__all earthly joys, thoo art mah choice_..."

England blushed heavily at the words; the same words that Scotland had engrained into his Christmas present. With every thrust he could feel himself melt; both him and his husband becoming one soul but with two bodies. His heart thumped loudly as Scotland moaned out his name like a mantra, the hand he was holding above England's head was brought to his chest and England could feel the thundering pulse matching his for pace.

"_Arthur...Arthur..._"

England spoke quietly and lovingly.

"Does this...heart beat for me, Alas?"

Scotland landed a thrust on England's sweet-spot, causing him to see stars.

"Aye...Thes heart loves ye coz Ah dae...because ye let me loove ye like thes..."

England brought his lithe legs up to wrap them around Scotland's body. They rubbed against him sensually as he sinfully undulated his hips upwards to meet his partner's. His hand's caressed everything they could possibly reach. He looked at Scotland in awe; even though he probably didn't look as healthy as he liked, the man above him still looked upon him as a treasure, not merely as an object of desire. He was still just as glorious as he remembered as the gentle light in the room created a golden glow upon his creamy skin.

They continued making love until they were spent but even after that they cuddled together, basking in their post-coitus bliss.

"You know, Alas?"

Scotland's voice rang out sleepily.

"Aye?"

England simply responded gently.

"They won't...get me down...those riots...I'll do my...bloody best to do what...I can to make my country one...that everyone can be...proud of...just like how I'm...so proud of...my family...and my Little Southern Sun...I'll have to...treat him soon...Hmmm, love you...Alas...love you so...Zzzz...Zzzz"

England couldn't even finish what he wanted to say, the events of the day and the night catching up to him. Scotland kissed the nape of his neck and hugged him tighter.

"We're proud anyways...cos though yoour people showed th' worst av ye...they also showed th' best...that's why Ozzy looves ye so...that's why Ah admire an' loove ye..."

* * *

><p>They slept soundly until around ten. As he promised, England took Australia out for the day. They just roamed around London, seeing with pride how people had picked themselves up after the riots. They ate, walked along the Thames and even rode on the London eye in the evening. All the while Prussia and Scotland watched the duo contentedly. Both taking satisfaction from the strong parent-child bond. When they stopped off at Trafalgar Square, Australia stared in awe at the lion statues that guarded Nelson's Column that he had seen so many times before.<p>

"What's wrong son?"

England had come up behind him to link their arms together. Australia replied softly. Thinking about how time, and time again even after making it through the most terrible of times, England still bounced back. He still carried on with life and took _him_ out as a thanks for his help when it should be him taking _England_ out for being well again. Despite his rough history, Australia could honestly say that in his personal opinions, England was one of the bravest, most courageous nations he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Not only had the man overcome foreign and domestic adversity but also adversaries within himself. Regardless of what his people did, he himself had overcome the lure of selfishness, the empty temptation of power and had faced up to his demons and what he had done wrong in life with a sincere wish to make amends and better himself.

"Nothin', mum. Just sort of realised that those lions are just like you..."

England looked at him quizzically.

"Well, it's my national animal but how are they like me?"

Australia looked at his mother earnestly and smiled.

"You're both Lionhearted..."

* * *

><p><strong>And that's it!~ As I said, I hope you all enjoyed it!<strong>

**A/N:**

**The riots = one of the most disgraceful things I have ever seen in my life. Though I live in London, I was in Spain at the time and I was absolutely shocked, I couldn't believe that the London on the T.V. was the same London I left only around a week before. I can honestly say that I'm ashamed of the rioters and I condemn their days everything thing was complete chaos (even though the official span of the riots was the 6th-10th of August). They indeed showed the best and the worst of English people. **

**Also if anyone isn't sure about anything then please ask!**

**As always reviews are most welcome!~**


	11. Pōkarekare Ana

**Hey everyone! Yeah I'm still alive, sorry about the lack of updating but it's been a busy couple of weeks! I even went up to Scotland, can safely say I'm in love with the country.**

**Now I know some people that reviewed the last chapter though that I had forgotten about New Zealand, trust me I haven't! **

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last time and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the OCs and plot!**

* * *

><p>"Mama? What are you doing up? You should be resting!"<p>

"Damn it all, Noah! I'm perfectly fine now...Ow."

New Zealand heaved a huge sigh. He had finally managed to go to the UK to help his mother recover from the 2011 Riots, taking the places of all of the family in looking after England, including Australia and Prussia, as they all had to return to their own countries for work. Scotland had to continue his duties as head of the United Kingdom since England was still out of action. With the wounds left by the riots in the British psyche still very fresh and raw, Scotland's workload was great and his hours long. He was also forced to stay in the City of London to make the commute easier. Wales was with him also, trying to take on part of the workload too but it was still exhausting. Thus England didn't see much of Scotland but he did see Wales every two to three days.

Saying goodbye to everyone had been hard for England and New Zealand was more than happy to help him in any way he could. England was also happy to have the smaller man around, his bubbly joy was infectious and the calm he brought to his being was impossible to ignore. It was also hard to ignore the fluffy Kiwi that always accompanied the boy everywhere but, unlike Australia's demonic Koala, it was simply adorable. What New Zealand wasn't all that glad about was England's refusal to believe that he needed more rest. Though the riots had ended, the sheer numbers of arrests, the high cost of the damaged caused (which rocketed into millions of pounds and placed a great strain on his already weak economy) and the continuation of public unrest in the form of anger, distrust and disappointment was causing England to have high fevers, spells of dizziness, crippling exhaustion and vomiting as well as aches and pains.

"See, you're pushing yourself too far too soon! Get back in that damn bed!"

England glared at the smaller male but did as he was told grudgingly. When he looked back up at his son, he shivered at the sugar-sweet smile that was directed at him. Even the Kiwi seemed intimidating as it ruffled up its feathers and raised its head from the foot of England's bed. New Zealand leant over England and placed a slender finger under his chin to force his gaze to be levelled with his own. The smile on his face turned into a wicked smirk and his eyes held a sinister glint. He spoke lowly, the voice sending shivers along England's spine.

"Get up again, Mama, and I'll have to resort to more..._drastic measures_."

England did not even dare to even _think_ about disobeying. The last time he had seen New Zealand's _'drastic measures'_ was when he had tied Australia to his bed and set a whole army of Kiwis to keep watch the last time he was ill. As gentle and as sweet as New Zealand was, one of the things that he had inherited from the UK family was the ability to strike fear into people's hearts whilst at the same time remaining perfectly pleasant. The elder blonde nodded dumbly and the wicked smirk on his child's face soon turned into a smug grin. New Zealand leant forward a placed a firm kiss to England's cheek, which only resulted in England's cheeks flushing.

"I'm glad you agree with me, Mama!"

England smiled at his son's sudden genuine happiness. New Zealand was an easy nation to please, he realised. He loved the simple things in life: nature, emotion and the energy of life itself.

"Would you like some tea then?"

England snapped out of his reverie and smiled.

"If you don't mind. Tea sounds grand...make yourself a cuppa too. I can't have you neglecting yourself."

New Zealand laughed, the sound airy and light.

"If I minded I wouldn't have asked! And I'm fine for now so don't worry."

With that, the younger man began to head off to the spacious kitchen. He forgot to ask what tea his mother would have liked, since he had at least thirty varieties, but figured that Earl Grey tea would hit the spot.

As the tea was brewing, his thoughts trailed to when he first met England. He was only little then, perhaps about four or five years old. Even at that age he was decorated with distinctive and symbolic Maori tattoos that were a significant part of his culture. It was a culture that was so incredibly different to England's own but what struck him about England was that, unlike many of his people, he was incredibly tolerant of different cultures. Sure, there were things that he honestly said that he didn't understand but England had clearly stated that though his people were often intolerant of differences despite having such a large Empire, he wasn't. He remembered that England had often remarked that because he had seen so many differences it was hard to be surprised; that didn't mean he wasn't ever surprised however. He was intrigued by the Maori people, their customs and their language. He enjoyed listening to the elders and New Zealand's mother as they told him stories of their history and their religion and, though shy and self-conscious, he always tried to make an effort to join in their festivities.

It took a long time for England to win the Maori's trust but he achieved it nonetheless, always making it clear that whilst he meant no harm to the people of New Zealand, his will may conflict with that of his people and this was ultimately where his loyalties would lie out of force. New Zealand and his mother understood this and thus a somewhat tentative friendship was formed and later developed.

New Zealand's thoughts then drifted to more sorrowful times. He could remember the tears England had tried to hide when his people's colonisation of New Zealand and Australia had resulted in the death of both of their respective mothers. He could still remember his mother clearly; her rich, dark skin and hair, melodic voice and kindly almond eyes. She was the original embodiment of what was now known as New Zealand; his own birth had occurred some time after Europeans first made contact with the country around 1642. He also remembered what Australia's mother looked like. She was somewhat similar to his own mother but she was much taller and older since New Zealand was one of the last places on Earth to be permanently inhabited.

One of the things that had endeared him to England was the genuine remorse and sorrow he had shown when both of the elder females had begun to pass away. They had learnt to forgive both England and his people for their trespasses yet England himself had never really forgiven himself and, as a result, many nations have noted that England's love for both Australia and New Zealand may have originally stemmed from a desire to right what he could in such a turbulent period of history.

A turbulent time it certainly was New Zealand thought bitterly. Everything he knew seemed to have been turned on his head and his once relatively quiet life disrupted. Yet somehow both he and England developed a mutual respect and love for one another that was still strong in the present day. In the Wars of New Zealand in 1845–72, in which they fought on opposing sides and where New Zealand could honestly say that he wept with both love and hatred for the man he would later call 'mother', England had looked in awe when his army was faced with a stunning display of the traditional New Zealand Haka. Such a display of strength, pride, unity and rhythm was truly beautiful to him.

Not only had he one England's respect and admiration in the fields of battle but England had won his. His tenacity during both world wars was inspiring. After the Hundred Days Offensive of the Great War, New Zealand had expected England to be somewhat harsh to Germany, Prussia and their allies. Yet at the end of the offensive, which saw the annihilation of the German Empire, England had spent hours desperately trying to find Prussia. When he managed to find him, just as broken and bloodied as himself, they embraced and they sobbed because they knew in their heart of hearts that though this celebrated the end of that horrendous war, it also spelt the end for Prussia as a nation. Though he was an 'enemy', England raised the man to his feet whilst muttering reassurances. Practically the exact same thing happened after World War Two, though both nations were completely haunted by events that had transpired. Even more so than after the Great War. Though The United Kingdom voted to dissolve Prussia, England was never in agreement and had vehemently cursed those who had given his friend a death-sentence. He didn't like Russia but he was grateful to the man for, in all intents and purposes, keeping him alive as Kaliningrad. That was when New Zealand realised that though there were truly no winners in such war, sometimes keeping hold of your friendships and family seemed to him to be a small victory.

It was not always doom and gloom however. New Zealand's thoughts drifted to a time when he had left his mentor stunned.

_'He had avoided England the whole day after being brought to the House of the United Kingdom for the first of a long succession of stays. England had found the behaviour very odd, especially for someone as bright and as cheerful as New Zealand. Though he understood that such a change in environment would cause a shock, the child's avoidance disturbed him nonetheless. When England investigated further, he was perturbed by the feathers around the boy's room. The last time he had checked, New Zealand had not brought an animal familiar along with him besides a lamb, and God only knew just how many animals he was housing anyway! _

"_Noah? Noah! Before I prepare you for dinner with the family, I must have a word with you!"_

_When he heard a quiet shuffling, England turned around immediately. There stood Noah, only about seven our eight in human years, with his gentle almond eyes alight with worry and, dare he say it, fear. _

"_Y-yes...Mama..."_

_England's eyes softened considerably. He crouched down and opened his arms in invitation._

"_My dear boy...you need not be so frightened. You should know I have no ill-will towards you whatsoever..."_

_New Zealand blushed heavily but managed a small smile. He trotted up to his caretaker and cuddled into the man's chest, breathing in the comforting smell of the man he loved and sometimes hated with equal passions. England couldn't help but think that he was one of the sweetest, most adorable children he had ever laid his eyes on._

"_I am sorry..."_

_England chuckled._

"_There is nothing at all to be sorry about, lad."_

_The older blonde gently moved the young boy so that he was holding him at arms length. His expression demanded absolute truth but was still kind at the same time._

"_Now...I want you to be honest, son. What are all these feathers doing in your room, hm? And pray tell, child, why do you avoid me so?"_

_The tiny child's eyes widened to the size of saucers. He also began to tremble as tears filled his eyes. He screwed them shut as he bowed his head low to try and get rid of the tears but only succeeded in letting them fall. His tiny fists fidgeted with his long white robes. He didn't want England to be mad at him but he didn't want to risk his familiar being taken away from him. The Englishman simply took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the boy's tears whilst whispering softly._

"_Where is your other familiar, son? I want to see how big it is so that we can ask uncle Scottie to make it a bed."_

_At his words, the child snapped his head up to look at his caretaker in awe. England grinned._

"_You didn't really believe that I would take your familiar away did you?"_

_New Zealand sobbed happily as he practically jumped on England, causing the man to fall backwards onto his backside. For a small child, New Zealand was rather strong as he crushed England in his hug. The older man found himself pleased for such a strong child could only mean a healthy nation._

_After the hug, New Zealand ran to a wardrobe in his room and ushered England over. _

"_I'm sorry that I kept him in here but I didn't know where else to put him..."_

_England sighed but smiled at the end._

"_Well, I suppose that it is a good thing that your clothing is not yet long enough to reach the floor of your wardrobe. After today I do not want the animal in there, please."_

_After nodding to confirm his understanding, the child opened the big wardrobe and climbed in. England raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt. When the boy climbed back up and presented him with a ball of fuzz, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. When the animal stirred and stretched to show his incredibly long beak and legs that were disproportioned to its large, round body, beady eyes and small wings, England's eyes widened. _

_A Kiwi._

_His child had brought home a Kiwi bird. As adorable as the small creature was, England always found himself amazed at the sheer diversity of the animals that inhabited the world. That was one of the benefits of heading such a large Empire he supposed; he was able to see and interact with these animals first hand. _

"_Well...I will admit that I was not expecting a Kiwi bird but he is more than welcome in this house. What is his name, child?"_

_New Zealand couldn't hide the gleam of pride of and love for the bird in his eyes._

"_Iwi...His name is Iwi because, like me, he is my people and my nation...He's important..."_

_England smiled._

"_Iwi, huh? It's a fine name...May I?"_

_New Zealand saw England outstretch his hand palm up and wait patiently for the signal that he could touch the bird. In his native language, New Zealand made it clear to Iwi that England meant no harm; that he was a friend. After a short moment where the bird's beady eyes were fixed on New Zealand's own as he processed the information, recording it for a later date, he looked upon England and seemed to almost judge his appearance. Suddenly, with a happy sounding 'Piyo!~' the bird seemed to accept England as a friend and allowed his head to be stroked by the elder blonde's gentle but war-calloused hands. England's eyes lit up with discrete joy and he grinned as the small creature ruffled his feathers in appreciation of the attention. _

"_Alright then, it is time to get you ready for dinner. I will not have you looking anything less than presentable. Do you understand?"_

_New Zealand nodded as he reached out to hold England's hand, glad that he could keep his bird.' _

The New Zealand of the present day shook his head at the memory. He chuckled to himself as he remembered Scotland's annoyance at the fact that he was forced to make _another_ animal bed (a nest no less!) but the annoyance quickly faded when he saw how cute the animal was. Iwi was still with him now but the animal was busy sleeping at the foot of England's bed.

New Zealand looked down and judged the tea as ready. After adding two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk, he took the tea and a plate of biscuits back up to England's room. He smiled as he entered, seeing England exactly where he had left him. The older man was reclined leisurely against his pillows as he watched the T.V located at the foot of the bed.

"Here you go, Mama..."

A serene smile adorned the older man's face and he somehow reminded the younger of the angels that North Italy often liked to paint. New Zealand placed the tea and food on the bed-side table on England's left, knowing the man liked his tea cooled down slightly when he was sick.

"Such a sweet lad...Thank you."

New Zealand smiled beatifically.

"What I'm doing for you needs no thanks, Mama. I'm happy to be with you and looking after you because I do miss you..."

At his last words, New Zealand glanced downwards and a light blush dusted his cheeks.

"I miss you too, lad. It's a genuine shame that we live so far apart..."

The younger man nodded in agreement. The distance between their houses_ was_ a shame. They say it's a small world but to countries like the Oceanic Pair, it seemed as if the world was a very big place indeed. New Zealand's reverie was interrupted by his mother's violent coughing fit. He rushed over immediately and patted England's back firmly. He also brought out a tissue so that England didn't have to cough into his sleeves or hands. When the fit ended, England's voice was hoarse and his fever spiked; the heat uncomfortable against the younger blonde's skin. New Zealand threw the tissue away and proceeded to dip a folded piece of cloth on the bedside table into a bowl of chilled water. He wrung out the cloth as much as he could and placed it upon England's forehead but not before wiping the sweat off his brow. It worried him how laboured England's breathing was but knew it was all a part of the recovery process.

"Better, Mama?"

England responded after he managed to regain some control of his breathing and clear his throat.

"I suppose...Eugh...I hate all of these blasted illnesses. They are nothing but bloody nuisances."

New Zealand smiled sympathetically.

"I know how you feel but, knowing you, you'll be back on your feet in no time!"

England hummed in reflection.

"Perhaps...I prefer to focus on short-term goals such as getting this tea and those biscuits down me ASAP!"

The almond-eyed teen chuckled and after removing the cloth from his head, he passed the goods over to England, slyly nabbing himself a biscuit along the way.

"Oi! You shouldn't steal from the sick!"

"The sick should be happy that it was only one biscuit!"

"When did you become so bloody immoral!"

"When I got raised by a former Pirate maybe?"

England became stumped. He actually had no come-back.

"Touché..."

New Zealand's mouth broadened into a cheeky grin. The wicked smile matured his facial features into something more befitting of a nineteen year old. England believed that he could go as far as to call the man 'handsome' instead of adjectives such as 'pretty' and 'fair' which were attributed to the almond-eyed boy almost constantly. England smirked inwardly as the adjective 'impish' came to mind.

"So that's two-nil to me so far today, right?"

England huffed and carried on sipping at his tea whilst mumbling under his breath about how he had had enough of 'disrespectful, _thieving_ youths' and how back when he was younger he would have gotten 'a right good _lashing_ for stealing.'

As the elder nation drank his tea, the younger began putting things like freshly washed and ironed clothes away in the wardrobes and generally tidying up a bit. He soon began singing a very popular Maori love song called 'Pokare Kare Ana', which was written during World War One.

_Pōkarekare ana, (They are agitated,  
>ngā wai o Waiapu. the waters of Waiapu.<br>Whiti atu koe hine, But when you cross over girl,  
>marino ana e. they will be calm.) <em>

His voice drifted through the room melodically as he sung about the pain being separated from the one you love; images of Australia immediately coming to the forefront of his thoughts. He missed him terribly but he was content to be with England. He snapped his head in England's direction when he heard the man sing along with him, his gentle tenor complimenting his own.

_E hine e, (__Oh girl,__  
>hoki mai ra. <em>_return to me.__  
>Ka mate ahau <em>_I could die,__  
>I te aroha e. <em>_of love for you.)_

They sang the rest of the of the song in a peaceful, gentle rhythm as New Zealand continued to tidy up. He occasionally glanced up at his former caretaker and, by the look on his face, he could tell that he missed Scotland, Ireland, Wales and France all in equal measures. He had to hand it to his mother, he wasn't sure there was enough room in his own heart for so many loves. For as long as he could remember, the only constant love in his heart was Australia. That wasn't to say that he had never been with anyone else, it's just that Australia had always been the one he had loved above all others. He knew nations were not, and would never be, purely monogamous creatures but he figured that something akin to monogamy could be achieved. It was possible with himself and Australia, Spain and Southern Italy, Germany and Northern Italy, Norway and Denmark, Sweden and Finland and Northern Ireland and Mann. Yet somehow England had ended up with four permanent lovers and at least three that were not. Rumour had it that America was also planning on making a move soon. New Zealand had to stifle a giggle as he shook his head; it was surprising that his mother hadn't been driven completely mad.

The song soon came to a end and a pleasant silence had taken it's place. England was the first to break it.

"Charming. That song is utterly _charming_..."

The smile on New Zealand's face was gentle and warming much like the light of the morning summer sun.

"It is, isn't it? It's no wonder it's so beloved by my people..."

England hummed in agreement. The veil of silence draped over the two men once more and England found himself in awe at the peace that surrounded him. How wonderful it would be to feel such peace everyday! Days that passed by in serenity with himself and his family were days he _treasured_. Problems would always haunt the pleasant days much like a stormy cloud haunts the skies or a lonesome spectre would haunt a house, but England felt as though he had every right to only glance over them with a suitable level of disinterest. His interest lay in the golden rays of the sun pouring in through his window along with the fresh summer breeze.

Whilst his former mentor tended to his thoughts, New Zealand tended to his TV which was about turn itself off due to disuse. It was a spare TV that was not often used but was brought into England's room to keep him somewhat entertained whilst he was bedridden. Northern Ireland had also managed to find a PS2 that he connected to it as well. Now that New Zealand though about it...

"Mama?..."

England looked over to his child and immediately felt dread. The same dread he felt when Wales gives him_ 'The Look'_. He did not like the way the boy glanced at the games console; his smirk wicked and vicious and eyes inhumanely bright with an ungodly glint.

"I'm willing to bet twenty pounds that you won't beat me in Tekken..."

At that England straightened up immediately and eyes took on an arrogant yet dangerous glint. New Zealand internally praised himself for unleashing the pirate within England.

"You're as bold as brass, _boy_..."

New Zealand's smirk seemed to widen.

"Don't tell me you're scared, _Mama_?"

England chuckled, the sound low and husky.

"You might want to reconsider that bet, lad. No one has _ever_ beaten me at Tekken..."

* * *

><p>"Eugh...I feel like my head's gonna fucking explode..."<p>

Scotland, though exhausted, chuckled at Wales' terrible mood.

"Well, wee bairn, Ah'm sure that Artie will have a spare kiss tae press tae ye head. Kisses on th' head always git rid uv a headache!"

At that Wales cheered up immediately. He turned to Scotland with a cheeky smile.

"Won't you kiss my head too, Brawd?"

Scotland rolled his eyes but complied with a slight blush.

Yer an imp..."

Wales laughed loudly but still rushed to open the front door. He knew that England was well looked after, but that didn't make him less eager to see him. When the two men entered the house they were immediately hit by the lack of activity on the downstairs floor. During his illness, England was usually asleep at this time and New Zealand, since he had arrived at the house, would usually be watching some TV. The strange stillness was shattered into a million pieces, however, when a flurry of curses in both Maori and English seemed to erupt from England's room followed by peals of laughter. The ear splitting sound effects and soundtrack of a video game blared out from above. They rushed up the stairs but then cautiously approached the room.

"FUCK!"

"What did I tell you, boy? Leave things like this to men!"

"You're only four years older than me!"

"Actually I'm around fifteen-hundred years older than you!"

"Shut up and play!"

"As you wish, Sir. I never knew you were so eager to hand over all of your money!"

"Dammit! Remind me_ never_ to bet against you! _EVER_!"

Wales and Scotland looked at each other with quizzical looks on their faces. Scotland eased the already slightly opened door wider in order to peak inside. He looked at Wales flabbergasted but then began to snicker. When Wales looked into the room as well, he chuckled too. There was England and New Zealand roaring with laughter and shouting at the tops of their lungs to the high heavens above. Poor Iwi the Kiwi had retreated to his nest at the far end of the room to escape the noise. Both men could swear that the bird even had ear muffs on!

England was clearly still sick, his face was flushed and he still looked gaunt and frail, but his eyes (though still rather dull) were alight with a wicked gleam and his mouth spread wide into a vicious smile. New Zealand was close by his side, their shoulders and sides crushed against the other's, his expression was excited but focused. At times they would look at each other and the love shared between them was almost heartbreaking. It all seemed to dissipate when their attention became focused on the game, however.

When the round came to an end New Zealand collapsed on England's lap. The smug smirk still plastered on the elder's face.

"Aren't I suppose to be the exhausted one, lad?"

New Zealand pouted and raised his head to look at his former Colonial Master. He was laying comfortably on his stomach now, his lithe legs bent upwards behind him.

"Eugh...since when did you become so good at this game, Old Man?"

England raised a bushy brow.

"Old? What happened to 'You're only four years older!'? And when you have friends like Kiku and Alfred and a family like ours, one must become good at games such as these in order to retain some sort of bragging rights!"

At that moment, Wales waltzed into the room. His smile was sultry and playful.

"Bragging rights, Brawd? Don't you share those with me?"

England groaned and New Zealand laughed. It was true, the only person in the family with England's prowess at Tekken was Wales. The dark-haired man hugged New Zealand, ruffling his hair and shooting him a fond grin. He made his way over to England and gave him an adoring kiss.

"I've missed you, _fy Anwylyd_" _(...my Beloved.)_

England returned the kiss and smiled softly at the Welshman. He purred out the other's name to indicate he was using its literal translation.

"It's only been a day or so! But I've missed you too, _Cariad..." (...love.)_

The elder blonde turned to Scotland who was busy giving New Zealand a gentle noogie. To Scotland, England's smile was blinding. This is what he enjoyed coming home to after a hard day; happy lovers and a happy family.

"Hello stranger..."

The tall red-head chuckled.

"Me Mam told me not tae talk tae strangers let alone kiss them ye knoow..."

England smile became coy as he looked at his second husband through his lashes.

"I'm sure you can make an exception for me...Isn't life about taking risks?"

Scotland raised a brow but complied gladly. After kissing his lover sweetly, Scotland embraced him.

"How're ye feelin'?"

England nodded enthusiastically.

"Hmm, much better thank you..."

Scotland looked over to New Zealand for confirmation of this. The youngest man grinned broadly and nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Apart from a couple of coughing fits, a bout of vomiting and dizziness, his fever still spiking and the general aches and pains he's doing much better. He was walking around for a longer than ever before until I sent him back to bed...He even managed to walk to the tea house and by the river..."

Scotland's brows furrowed in concern as he placed his hand under England's fringe to feel his forehead.

"Yer fever still hasn't broken...and yer still feelin' sick..."

Wales spoke before England had a chance to. He stroked the man's cheek gently and smiled at him indulgently.

"Oh but he's doing so _well_, Scotty...He'll be back to normal in no time at all. Right, boyo?"

England leaned into the loving touches.

"Aye...I'll fine, Alas...You've got enough on your plate to worry about..."

New Zealand gently patted his uncle's back.

"How can someone who is so loved and a nation who has people driven by tenacity be ill for long?"

Scotland smiled.

"Yer all reit Ah suppose...doesnae mean Ah won't worry...There's somethin' else that's botherin' me more though..."

Wales cocked his head sideways in confusion.

"What's worrying you, Scottie?"

Scotland mouth stretched into a large, dangerous grin.

"Where are th' other tae controllers fer th' console?"

* * *

><p>"Hah! Prepare tae kiss my arse, Arthur!"<p>

"Later, love, later! Now's not the time now is it? Desperate whore!"

Scotland whipped his head round to face his lover with indigence.

"YER FACE IS A FECKIN' WHOORE YE GOBBY BASTARD!"

Wales burst out laughing, the sound mocking yet musical.

"Now, now Scottie...Don't be bitter because you're losing!"

"We are not_ losing_, Uncle! We are simply getting _warmed up_! Know the difference!"

England joined in with Wales' laughter.

"Your losing by three games to fifteen! How much more time do you bloody need?"

"Obviously a lot more time, Brawd. I have a frozen leg of lamb in my freezer back in Wales that warms up quicker than they do! Hell, they're both about as slow as Francis in the sack!"

"WHAT!? When did ye sleep wi' th' frog!? An' he's nae always slow! He can sometimes be a reit impatient bastard ye knoow..."

"OH MY FUCKING GOD! UNCLE PAY ATTENTION TO THE GAME!"

"Ohh it was _ages _ago when we were all drunk..."

"What's wrong with slow love-making, Cariad?"

"Well, Brawd, there's nothing wrong with it but occasionally I do like it fast and dirty...Just like how you do it when I get you _really_ riled up..."

A sensuous wink and a sultry lick over his ear were gifted to England from his, rather perverted, twin that almost caused him to have a nose bleed as his temperature suddenly sky-rocketed. Scotland looked over to England with a teasing smile that was then replaced by feigned hurt.

"How come Ah don't git a bit o'that, Artie, hmm? Ah'm jealous..."

"Oh belt up you sod and concentrate on the game! You and your nephew already owe Wales and I around one-hundred pounds between you!"

New Zealand decided to pose a question he had been wanting to ask for a while.

"Is there anyone that France hasn't shagged, Mama?"

England snorted with derision.

"Probably not, child. That man is about as despicable as they come!"

"That's not th' opinion of him ye had the last time ye 'got together' tae 'reconcile differences'..."

England's face became inflamed with indignant rage.

"FUCK YOU! That bloody Frog Face has the largest gob of _anyone_ on this whole blasted planet!"

The whole family laughed at England's outburst. New Zealand was very happy. His mother already looked much better, as if the distractions and the company were a special healing salve. By the end of the evening however, despite being around one hundred and fifty pounds better off and having a belly full of tea and scones, England had ended up passing out from exhaustion. He had been slumped across Wales' lap as the four men enjoyed a quiet chat after their gaming but when New Zealand turned to ask him a question, they found the elder blonde with his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even and his face serene. Though his cheeks were still flushed with fever, he didn't look as gaunt as before which was smile-inducing. Wales stroked his face gently, removing his fringe from his eyes (Wales made a note-to-self to remind him to cut his twin's hair), as he cooed lovingly.

"He's is so beautiful when he sleeps, even when he's sick...Don't you think so, Scottie..."

Scotland smiled indulgently a both his brothers.

"Aye, he's bonnie when he's asleep but he's stunnin' when he's awake tae...How we goin' tae move him tae bed though?"

New Zealand began to move off the bed slowly, whispering as he made his way around.

"Leave that to me, Uncles..."

He slowly lifted England out of Wales' lap with a bit of help, taking extra care not to jostle the sleeping avatar. He gently tucked him into his bed, but not before making sure that he wasn't so feverish that he would need wiping down with a damp cloth or too chilled to need extra layers.

"Yoou'd make th' perfect mother, Zea...Yer jist as motherly as Cari."

New Zealand looked up at Scotland and blushed.

"No, no. I'm just doing what any loving child would do. These things come instinctively I

suppose..."

Wales grinned.

"But that's _exactly_ what makes you so good at looking after people, Noah...Artie especially. Your mild yet firm approach is exactly what he needs now. You know he's awful guilty...He thinks you are forcing yourself to do this or that he's just being a burden and he hates that...Your so sweet though so he can't refuse your help..."

New Zealand's eyes widened with disbelief and he struggled to keep his voice at a whisper.

"What? No! Mama is definitely not a burden; he's the farthest thing from it! I would never forgive myself if I couldn't him or any of you with something like this because I know you would do the same for me! Love doesn't need a reason to help; _it just does_..."

Both Scotland and Wales smiled knowingly at the child. Both men decided it was time to head for their own rooms. They embraced the younger nation, giving him kisses on the head and a stern plea to got to bed soon. They both also kissed England's forehead in a silent goodnight. When they had left, New Zealand carried on tucking England in, making sure he had drinking water, a spare blanket and his iPod by his bed side. A groggy voice pierced the sudden silence.

"It's people...like you, Noah...that make getting better...that make living..._worthwhile_...*cough*..."

New Zealand's heart swelled with filial love despite his short-lived surprise at the voice. Honestly, there was nothing like the love between parents and their children. He spoke gently as he stroked England's hair.

"Oh your just saying that..."

England smiled but he couldn't stay awake for long. He dragged his body over to the other side of the bed.

"Mama! What are you doing? You should be resting and-"

The boy didn't finish his sentence as a clammy hand tugged on his. He immediately knew what the other wanted and he couldn't refuse him. Even if he wanted t refuse, he wouldn't be able to deny the other's gentle pleading. He got into the bed after turning off all the lights, allowing the older man to cuddle into his chest in an innocent show of affection. New Zealand wound his arms around his second mother and the warmth and security provided by them let England know that as much as he wanted to protect and care for his family, they were also willing to provide the same when he needed the care so desperately.

"I love you, Noah..."

The quiet, sincere utterance made New Zealand hold his mother tighter in his arms, as if he was scared that the man would somehow vanish if he let go. A shiver ran through him as he remembered that he wouldn't be able to remain with his mother for long. It was a thought that chilled his blood and made him want to cry. Sometimes New Zealand really wished that God could move his country so that he could be more near all of his family. England rested his head on the boy's arm and that very arm curled around his head protectively, breaking him out of his depressive thoughts. He still had a couple of weeks here with his family and that would be enough to keep him ticking over. Just as long as he could keep his mother company and help him get better then he would be happy with the time given to him. His small, kindly hand brushed through the blonde locks of the man next to him. New Zealand managed to whisper a reply before they were both taken away by the Sandman to the deep depths of oblivion.

"I love you too, _Mama_..."

* * *

><p><strong>Kind of a shot chapter but I like some things to be short and sweet!<strong>

**As always, reviews are always welcome and if anyone has any questions about anything in this chapter please don't hesitate to drop me an email!**

**Iwi = A Maori name that means 'people' or 'tribe'.**


	12. History One: Glad To Have You Back

**HEY GUYS! Due to not updating in ages before, I felt that the least I could do was bust out this chapter. I really hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: HETALIA NO ES MIO! I only own my OCs and plot!**

**This is a chapter requested by HoshiUta; I hope this does your idea justice! It's the American Revolutionary War btw!**

**Also, thank you so much to xx-animeXalchemis-xx and Moonlight-Yume-Charlotte as well as HoshiUta and others for your constant support. It means a lot! :D x**

* * *

><p>He couldn't do it.<p>

As the the chilled wind and rain whipped mercilessly against his face, he realised that he just _couldn't _shoot the boy. He could hear Scotland behind him, hollering as loud as he could only for the wind to carry the sound.

"What th' feck are ye doin', Arthur? _ARTHUR!_"

His brother's yells fell on deaf ears as his glassy emerald eyes stared into confused sapphire. The United States of America, his _Alfred_, was desperately trying to keep his troops from marching on to attack his former mentor until he knew for certain whether or not he was going to shoot. France stood to the side nervously, watching a raging storm brewing within the eyes of England; his rival, friend and lover. A violent storm that howled with the bitter sounds of betrayal and wept acidic tears of grief and agony. He couldn't remember ever seeing England like this; only three times, perhaps, when Rome first took him away from his family and forced him into slavery and gladiator fights after promising to keep him safe and surely on other occasions. The sight was so staggering that France simply couldn't remember.

He almost fell backwards from surprise and then despair when those toxic eyes landed on him with such vehemence and such pure_ loathing. _England had certainly never looked at _him_ like _that_. At that moment he feared that he had lost England for good and that thought churned in his stomach only to settle at the bottom like a horrendously heavy weight. He tried to show how sympathetic he was in his eyes; truly Arthur himself had been nothing but good to Alfred (yes he was away for months on end and sometimes he could be rather harsh with punishment but that could be overlooked), but the unjustly treatment of the young nation and his people by the British was just too much even for the steadfast American. He was only met with an expression that was even more ferocious than the last.

He understood why the look became more poisonous; he had to admit that though there was some sympathy, he was mostly vengeful for Britain's annexation of Canada in the Seven Years' War and this was the completion of his revenge. He knew that he certainly wasn't to be anywhere near the younger man for the duration of the foreseeable future, lest he met the same fate as some of the soldiers whose corpses littered the battlefield.

"BRAWD! _PLEASE, BRAWD!_"

Wales was in pieces by now. He didn't completely trust the opposing army that confronted his trembling beloved, his twin who was as much a part of him as he himself was. He didn't want them to shoot at him when he was clearly disorientated with grief. Even to his own twin's cries however, England remained completely deaf. All he could hear was the roaring elements swirling around him and his own chaotic heartbeat in his throat. He just couldn't find it in his blackened heart to shoot the boy in front of him. His boy that he had raised and loved- no that he still _did_ love more than anything. _He had lost_. The War was lost and shooting the newly independent Nation would do nothing to change that. In fact it would only make a bad situation worse. He threw his gun to the floor as he gazed into America's eyes with the same expression he gave France. The difference this time, however, was that his eyes had become saturated with deep affection and regret. They seemed to scream at the younger blonde.

'_Look. __**Look**__ at what you have done to me...I__** never**__ wished for this.._.'

America knew that his eyes probably screamed something similar as he gazed at his former Master.

England's legs shook furiously with the strain of keeping their owner standing however they just couldn't take it any more. England gasped as his legs gave out from under him, causing him to buckle and then ultimately collapse to his knees. Even in this position his body cried with effort to keep him up. His frame shook as the tears overflowed his eyes and silently stained the ground below him. He hadn't felt this crushing despair for centuries.

_'How pathetic,' _he thought, _'To be down on my knees shaking like a dog.' _

"_ARTHUR!"_

"_BRAWD!"_

Both Scotland and Wales were at a loss for what to do. They couldn't move to comfort the blonde just yet in case they were all shot yet they didn't want to leave England at America's mercy, covered in the Earth that sullied his form whilst trying to cradle him in a soggy embrace. Despite the howling of the wind, England had heard America's final words before he led his troops away in celebration.

"_You used to be so...so great..."_

As soon as the words had left America's mouth, he knew that he had probably lost any chance for forgiveness. He needed to say that, however, because he needed England to hate him. He needed England to forget about him so that he wouldn't torment himself. America loved England with all his heart, he didn't think that he ever felt such passion with every fibre of his being before. He couldn't be selfish like that though. He couldn't throw away the man he loved and expect to keep that love. His mind told him that it was for the best. If England hated him then it would, in turn, be so much easier to hate England. His heart, however, grieved fiercely. When he turned his back and began to lead his armies away to celebrate, he almost ripped his own hair out in sorrow when he heard England cry and scream in pain from being completely and utterly heartbroken. Not even the wind could overwhelm the sounds of England losing it. The wind seemed to only be carrying the sounds towards him.

He glanced back briefly and felt tears of both sadness and searing jealousy escape at the sight. Scotland had taken hold of England bridal style and was cradling him to his chest whilst Wales went to pick up his gun. He saw how the red-head would kiss England's forehead and murmur reassurances not even he could hear in his ear. When the elder man looked up and caught his gaze, a mutual flash of malice passed between them that left injuries that would later fester with spite. Scotland's arms wound around England tighter as if to say _'Mine._' When Wales rushed over to coo at England, stroking his face and kissing his nose as they both wept made America's vision flash red. When Scotland smiled at him, a smile that only promised suffering, and then turned to storm away, it only added insult to injury. He left the battle field with the sweet nectar of freedom flowing through his veins but with a ruefulness that made the victory bitter-sweet.

* * *

><p>Recovery was agonisingly slow for England. Emotional depression had crippled him and the ongoing disagreements with France did nothing to sooth him. In the first year or so, it was a gargantuan effort to even get England to get out of bed. Even when he did get up he seemed to do things mechanically as if his dazed mind was only doing what was necessary to keep him alive. Wales, ever concerned for his 'other half' often tried to sing to get some sort of reaction from the shell of a man that grieved incessantly. Occasionally England would respond; he would try to raise himself, he would try to reach out and he would try to sing but the extent of his sadness would lock his muscles in place, pull him back down and murder his voice before it even had a chance to leave his throat. Further impending wars with France, the madness of his King, George III, the stress of the impending regency of the rather selfish George IV and the deaths of two of his baby Princes, Alfred (yes, baby <em>Alfred <em>no less) and Octavius, were hitting him hard. **(1)**

Suddenly, however, England began forcing himself to get on with day-to-day life muttering things to himself. Despite the genuine happiness that his family felt at his new found mobility, they were deeply concerned by the resentment and anger that surrounded the man. His eyes no longer shined with a dignified, content light but with either a barely-bridled rage or a complete lack of life that everyone had found astounding. He was just as unpredictable as when he was a Pirate and as unrestrained as an unbroken horse. He was testy and prone to sudden outburst of bipolar tenancies. Many times the family were convinced that he had gone mad every time they found him rocking backwards and forwards weeping bitterly without any focus in his eyes.

The children had begun to avoid him out of fear and many of the adults began to as well. It didn't seem to matter to the blonde because he had become very selective over who he let near him. He kept a tight leash on his colonies but generally refused to see them (much to their relief). Eventually all the children were sent away to live with The Scottish Island Quartet and the older members of the Empire in one of Scotland's estate. North and Canada refused to leave. In the end only the UK family and Ireland, North and Canada along with India and Jamaica opted to remain with the troubled man. **(2)**

England didn't care to see North very much though, which saddened the toddler immensely. He would often cry to his Aunty Mann, Uncles or his Father with worries that his Mama didn't love him any more. They knew that that wasn't true; they knew England loved him. England however, just couldn't stand the sight of him. Every time he did his heart and breath would seize in his throat with anxiety at the thought that maybe this darling child would leave him too. It was exactly the same case with Canada who wasn't used to being ignored or scorned by England. He never felt invisible with him but now he felt more transparent than ever. It was certainly worse for Canada though, since he looked so much like his younger brother. Whenever England saw him he would often scream for the young boy to be taken somewhere where he couldn't see him. That hurt Canada deeply. He wasn't Alfred but his face begged to differ in England's mind.

The only people that seemed to escape England's wrath in the Household were Mann, the children (for though he ignored or snapped at them, he would never hurt them physically) and Wales. Though Wales was not on the receiving end of aggression, he found that he was often on the receiving end of a different sort of treatment. England would often come into his chamber (but Wales never would lock the door to him), dishevelled and delirious with insanity begging for his touch. Begging for someone to love him since 'no one else did.' It broke Wales' heart but he welcomed England's presence in his bed and welcomed his touch. Sometimes the blonde would just curl into Wales lap and at other times Wales would find himself in the throes of pleasure as England pleaded for his love and his commitment. Each time he gave them to him without hesitation.

Scotland and Ireland were in no way spared. England found that the sight of both men was enough to darken his mood. They both preached independence like a Holy Man preaches Scripture which inevitably soured England to them. He found himself in a very dark place in his mind and he wanted nothing less than subservience. But at times it seemed like they couldn't even _breathe_ without his say so. Scotland had asked England if he could go to a festival his people were holding, one he went to every year. When the other man refused, Scotland snapped at him. Though Ireland wanted to tell him to piss off too, England's reaction to Scotland had put a stop to Ireland saying anything.

"You will not go, _Scotland_. You will stay _right here_ and do your duties like you are _supposed_ to. I will not have you gallivanting to God knows where to do God knows what!"

Scotland could feel his blood boiling. He couldn't even enjoy a festival with his _own people_. That was just too much for the older man. His ire only seemed to increase when the blonde called him by his nation name. He was his brother and his husband, how _dare _he use his nation name? Ireland stood by quietly, leaning his body against a wall and folding his arms. He had a headache already and he knew it was only going to get worse.

"How dare ye use mah nation name? I am yer fecking family; yer _husband_ no less! I have a _reit_ to go and see mah people!"

Both red-heads could hear England take a steadying breath but his glacial voice quivered with rage.

"I will call you by any name I see fit to call you, _Imbecile_. You may be my husband but_ I_ will dictate what happens in my House! I need you here and _that. Is. All._"

Scotland bowed his head and began to laugh. He looked at England with hate but shadows of deep affection and concern lurked within those stunning orbs.

"It's nae wonder that wee American wanted to get rid uv ye..."

England's eyes narrowed to slits as hurt pooled in his eyes.

"I dare you, Scotland, to say that again..."

Scotland took the bait, smirking widely.

"_It's nae wonder Alfred wanted tae be rid uv ye_...I should have joined the fecking brat if Ah knew that Ah would be _collared like ah mutt_..."

England began to tremble and Ireland looked over to his elder brother worriedly.

"Scottie...Oi tink ye should-"

England's howls of rage suddenly annihilated the tense silence in the room. The shattering of his restraint was almost as audible as his shouts of hatred.

"_**GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!**_"

England grabbed blindly at his desk, clutching on to the first heavy, solid mass his fingers touched. He ended up picking up a very heavy clay vase and smashed it across Scotland's face. The impact was heard by Ireland even though he was at the other end of the room.

"_ALASDAIR!_"

England jumped over the desk and tackled the man to the ground. They fought bitterly, both sides injuring the other, but England had the upper hand. The blow to his head from the vase had disorientated Scotland. England smashed his fist against the other man blindly until his hands and clothes were stained in blood.

"**I**_**F YOU WANT TO LEAVE, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE THEN GET OUT!**_"

All the while Ireland had tried to restrain England but he was like a raging bull. An enraged nation was hard to stop and England's passionate ire was far from over. Even when Ireland had restrained his arms, he would kick at Scotland's unconscious body and thrash against Ireland, winding him and bruising him. The commotion had caused Jamaica, Mann and India to storm in. Mann's voice's echoed loudly despite the chaos around her.

"_Cariad! _Get Matthew and Seamus away from this! Make sure that they do not come down stairs until they are told!"

Wales shouted that he understood and did as he was told by his elder sister. Jamaica looked at Mann with deep concern as he struggled to help Ireland keep England under control. He found it a difficult task even though his body and mind were strong. He spoke as gently as he could, thick accent rhythmic in his words.

"Please, Miss Eleanor...Please stay outside! We don't want ye to get hurt!"

India and Ireland looked at Mann with the same concern. She batted it away, showing strength and determination. She couldn't bare to see England like this and she had to get through to him somehow.

"Thank you for the concern but I shall not leave! My brother needs me...I cannot abandon him simply because a twinge of fear strikes at my heart through my breast!"

India gritted his teeth and picked Scotland up to take him to one of the medical rooms of the house. Mann rushed over to England who was still shouting, the rage in the fiery pits of his stomach was still not quelled. The beast inside him wanted Scotland's blood. Mann raised her hands slowly to show she was no threat, almost as if England was a wild animal that needed to be placated.

"Arthur...Arthur dear, please stop this rage. You will hurt yourself my dear boy..."

Arthur snapped at her.

"It is not possible to hurt a man who is on the brink of death with injury, woman!"

Ireland couldn't contain himself.

"Don't feckin' talk te ger loike dat!"

England tried to lash out at the Irishman as a result. Mann gave Ireland a warning glare and then bit her bottom lip briefly.

"I know you are hurting, love, I know..."

England howled as his disorientation made him feel sick.

"You do not know! None of you understand...None-"

England's rant was cut short when Mann's gentle hands cupped his face tenderly. She cooed softly at him as her eyes began to shed tears for the wild man in front of her.

"My baby...My dear baby...please come back...It hurts me to see you so..."

England began to shake as even more emotions stormed his body. He felt dizzy and confused. He bowed his head low and shook it. He looked up at Mann desperately as his darkened eyes became glassy at his sister's distress; the pain he was feeling fully evident as he struggled to keep back sobs.

"You don't understand,_ Sister_...How can you understand what it's like-"

England took a big breath to steady himself. Ireland and Jamaica's grip on him remained firm. They were sure that England wouldn't attack the kind-hearted woman in front on them but they couldn't risk it.

"-What it's like to have your own child consider you as good as dead...To be s-so hated by everyone you hold dear..."

Even Ireland and Jamaica felt sadness at the words. Yes, England could be cruel but he could also be incredibly kind. Mann looked completely overcome with sorrow and disbelief.

"Oh no..._No, no, __no__ my baby_...You are _not_ hated...Not by me or Cari or anyone here...We _love_ you..."

Again, England shook his head, bitter tears beginning to leak into his eyes at the words his frazzled mind rejected but his broken heart craved. He leant forward, tugging gently at Ireland and Jamaica's hold but they wouldn't budge. England sobbed out in desperation for his Sister's comfort.

"Please...Please Patrick...Richard...Do not be so cruel as to deny me the comfort of my only Sister..." **(3)**

At his sincere tone, both men let go of England who immediately collapsed into his sister's arms. Her arms were safe and warm; just like his mother's. He began to weep, words coming out as gasps as his arms wound themselves tightly around the slightly smaller woman.

"It would be better if I were to die now..."

Mann gasped, her tears rolling down her beautiful face in torrents.

"_Do not say that!_ It would not be better to die when you have so much for which to live!"

By now England's crying was completely audible, his previous rage unable to be sustained by his exhausted mind and body.

"I do not wish for this_ misery_ forced upon me, Sister..._I cannot_...*sob*...I simply _cannot_ sustain this life..."

The frenzied Englishman lost any control he had over his sadness. He fell to his knees and dragged Mann with him. He pressed his face into the comfort of her bosom and wept for all he was worth. Mann sobbed with him as she curled her body over his as if shielding him from all the hurt in the world. Her right arm ran along her brother's body to settle on his lower back and her hand cupped his head. Her fingers ran themselves through wheat-coloured locks gently. She pressed her cheek against England's head as he sobbed into her dress. His hands gripped the back of the garment tightly as he was deeply afraid of letting go. Mann cried with him because all these months she had lost her brother and she didn't know how to get him back. She wept because she knew that even if she did get him back, he would _never_ be the same. The American's departure had damaged him in a way Nations experienced rarely. Yet it seemed as though England's suffering was just too much. Ireland went down to his knees and hugged the man he loved tightly. Jamaica soon followed, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. He spoke softly.

"Ye can't give up, Mr England...Arthur...If ye do-"

England cut him off.

"Such an existence is _intolerable_...It is insufferable and _no one_ will mourn my passing...So many problems would be solved and I would not feel this pain...My Sister...Please..._Please_..."

England wasn't to sure what he was pleading so desperately for but he knew that he wanted help first and foremost. He needed to find some sort of peace, some sort of resolve to his chaotic mentality. Mann cried out, desperation and grief thick in her voice.

"_No! __**I **_would mourn, Arthur..._**I **_would mourn for the _rest of my life_ if you were to die!"

Pain began to sear in England's heart and head; he was breaking his Sister's heart. Even now he still caused pain to those he loved. Mann rubbed his back comfortingly.

"My baby...We will help you! We will help you but you _must let go!_ If you love someone and they do not wish to stay then you must let them go..._Please_...Let Alfred go! _He is killing you!_"

The emerald-eyed blonde and his fair sister's sobs echoed around the room. His sister was right. His inability to let America go was killing him. He had a family that, as much as they fought and disagreed, needed him as much as he needed them. It would be heartless and cruel to force such grief upon them. Now he knew exactly how Scotland felt when he had lost his boy Darien and he had refused to help. He found himself amazed at how Karma worked. England finally raised his head and rested his forehead against hers.

"I have hurt you deeply, Sister..._Forgive me_..."

Mann smiled sadly at the blonde, his face cupped in her delicate hands. England began to wonder what he had done to deserve such a woman as a sister and second mother.

"I will forgive you if you promise to let him go...If you promise to get better and let us_ help_ you get better..."

England took a deep breath.

"Please, Sir...Please don't shut us out...I know we do not always see eye-to-eye but we are all _family_..."

England turned to Jamaica who had a look of deep earnestness in his chocolate gaze.

"Aye, me dear laddie...Tis not 'ealthy te remain loike dis...Ter _torture_ yerself loike dis. Yer may 'ave lost Alfred but yer still got laddies dat adore yer and that _need_ ter nu dat ye still love dem..."

England's gaze landed on Ireland's softened orbs and guilt surged within him. His children needed him and in his despair he had neglected them. Now that he thought about it, when was the last time he had seen his two precious boys? He was close to losing all of them simply because of the parting of one.

"I must..._I must see my children_..."

England suddenly rushed out of the multiple embrace he was in and in his hurry he almost feel over. He desperately tried to hone in on the energy of his children and found he could almost taste it in the air. He ran up all the stairs to the last floor and down the corridor to the last door. He burst through and his eyes were immediately drawn to Cariad who had moved to stand protectively in front of the children. He was crying too.

"Please, Brawd..."

England dropped to his knees as Mann, Jamaica and Ireland came up behind him.

"Seamus...Matthew come here...I am sorry..._I am so sorry_..."

Both boys looked at the haggled mess that was their mother and, with tears in their eyes, they ran to him, basking in the love that had been denied to them for over a year. England kissed their heads, apologising constantly and repeating words of love like a mantra. Even at the human ages of eight and sixteen respectively, North and Canada could feel hardly a trace of anger. Cariad raised his hands to his face in happiness and relief and bent to hug both England and the children.

* * *

><p>It had taken Scotland around two days to fully recover from his injuries. The vase had broken a part of his skull and damaged his eye. When he had woken up he had found England by his bedside. A deep love and remorse saturated his gaze. When their eyes met, England bowed his head in shame and it made Scotland's heart lurch at the sight. His Arthur was strong and confident in himself. The Arthur in front of him looked broken and tired. Yet he saw a familiar determination in those jewel like eyes that ignited hope within him.<p>

"Hey..It is all reit...Ah'm nae mad...Well, Ah _should _be...but Ah'm_ not_..."

A few tears escaped England's eyes but he regained his composure, wiping them away hastily.

"You have every right to be mad with me, Alasdair-"

England cringed as he said the name, almost as if he had no right to say it.

"-Attacking you so...collaring you so...it was very wrong of me..."

Scotland smiled.

"Ah suppose but Ah did say somethin' very cruel tae ye and so Ah'm sorry tae...An' Ah knoow that ye were so strict only because ye worry that we will all leave..."

England smiled. One of the first smiles to be seen on his face in almost two years and Scotland fell in love with it all over again.

"It it alright...I deserved that from you so...so it is alright...And yes, I suppose...Still, the way I have been acting does not justify my anxiety..."

A pregnant pause passed between the men. England broke whilst fidgeting, a nervous habit he had picked up.

"I have made arrangements for you to be taken to your festival next week...Have a good time..."

The older man's eyes widened in disbelief that caused England some amusement. His disbelief was short lived, however, as his brows furrowed with concern.

"Ah cannae go..._Ah cannae leave ye here like this_...An' ye need me here, remember?"

It was England turn to look astonished but he remained calm. He gently held Scotland's hand, rubbing the skin of his knuckles gently.

"_Please go_...after all of this you need a break too...And I have the others here to help me with my duties and with my..._other problems_...Go and enjoy yourself...You can even take Ireland and the children..."

Scotland looked rather torn.

"Ah cannae-..."

"-_Please, Alas_..."

Scotland heaved a huge sigh but smiled at the end of it.

"Alright then...Ah'll only be away fer a week or so..."

England smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad that you have agreed..."

England began to get up but Scotland tightened his grip on his hand and pulled him back.

"Where are ye goin'?"

After getting over the shock of being pulled back, England smiled sadly. This smile Scotland didn't like as much.

"I thought you would have wanted me to leave...I was going to go for a walk with Eleanor around the countryside in a moment anyway...Something about how fresh air will clear my head...But I suppose I am going to need_ a lot_ of fresh air..."

Scotland cringed internally at England's defeated tone of voice. He wondered briefly why England didn't want to go walk in his garden since he loved it there but then he remembered. The garden hadn't been tended to in around over a year, not since the majority of the family were sent away; it was as dead as the Englishman.

"Well, if ya goin' on a wee walk wi' our Sister then that's fine. But...but make sure ye come and spend some time wi' me later. Aye?"

England looked dumbfounded. His brother was awfully kind.

"Erm..."

Scotland grabbed his hand tighter, his expression unwavering.

"If you want me tae go away next week then Ah want ye here tonight..."

England found that he couldn't say no. He returned the grip on his hand, a fierce blush covering his cheeks.

"I will be with you tonight...if only you will have me by your side..."

Scotland's heart swelled with love. Oh how he sometimes hated this man but loved him all the more for it!

"_Of course_ Ah want ye here! Ah wouldnae have asked ye if Ah didnae want ye here...It will be nice tae have a guid blather..."

The blonde smiled sweetly and, not really thinking clearly, bent down to kiss the elder man chastely on he lips. Before Scotland could even register what had happened, England pulled back looking rather horrified.

"_Forgive me_...I do not know what came over me..."

Scotland's face tinged with deep colour and he smirked. He pulled the younger man back down and kissed him firmly. When they parted, England was rather breathless.

"Welcome back, laddie..._Welcome back_..."

England grinned widely for the first time in over two years. The happiness that filled his heart foreign but delightful.

"Perhaps not yet...but I am getting there...I must go. Rest well, Alasdair, and I shall see you later in the evening for dinner and our_ 'blather'_. Honestly, what a way to lift my spirits by butchering my language!"

Scotland burst out laughing and England smiled whilst watching him. He left the room chuckling to himself, the musical sound echoing along the corridor. _Finally_ he was feeling somewhat happier. He was still awfully depressed but he could see a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel he had been wondering along. The sound was heard by India and Jamaica in the room they were sharing and they smiled.

"Ah! Mr England is finally laughing! Only took two or tree years! Right, Ajeet?" **(4)**

The peaceful Indian man smiled gently at his energetic room-mate, his accent just as pleasant and musical.

"Yes, I suppose it is very nice to hear his laughter. Much better than his cries..."

"What is better than my cries, Ajeet?"

Both men gasped with surprise as England made his presence known. He leant upon their door frame, smirk on his face. India responded as it was him that was called out.

"Ah, well...We were saying, Mr England, how it is a _very good_ thing that you are sounding much more like your normal self..."

Jamaica seconded India's observation.

"If it's not too bold to say, Sir, you are lookin' so much more healthier already...Brighter, you know?"

England smiled sweetly.

"Thank you very much, both of you. For your comments and for putting up with my...condition as of late..."

Both men smiled back, feeing comfortable with the blonde for the first time in a long time. It was still a sad thing to look at England, however. He still looked lost and haggard and still generally lifeless. His authoritative yet gentle voice had been reduced to something just above whisper. He didn't look at either of the men in the eyes for long, still deeply ashamed and very low on confidence. England moved to leave but not without leaving both men's jaws hanging on the floor from shock.

"You have both been very busy...please take the weekend off from your chores to do as you both please...It is a weekend to get ourselves together so that we can resume our duties as normal come Monday...And please, call me Arthur...many of my people may not think so but you are both my equals..._my friends_ even though I hold a position of authority here..."

When the blonde left, Jamaica gave India a hi-five. When England turned the corner, he accidentally bumped in to Ireland. England suddenly felt just as uncomfortable as he did when Scotland woke up. He mumbled a quick greeting and tried to rush off but Ireland grabbed him before he could. What was it with people grabbing him when he clearly did not want to stay? He just wanted to see his twin, sister and children.

"Why do yer run from me, Art'ur?"

England's face became red with shame and he began to withdraw into himself under the intense gaze of the elder. Ireland looked pensive.

"Yer ashamed."

England tried to get away but Ireland held him firmly, wrapping his arms around the younger man.

"It's fine. We wud al' lose ourselves if we lost a wane loike dat. But _do not_ run away from me, gran' so?"

England looked down to the floor and nodded. He was still ashamed. Ireland gently lifted his face to his, keeping his other hand on the small of his back.

"Am Oi so unattractive dat yer refuse ter luk at me?"

Ireland smirked widely as England flushed and begun to stutter.

"Oh goodness no! Well...I mean...your not...erm I am sorry if you thought so...but you see-"

Ireland brought the two fingers after his thumb up to his lips and kissed them. He then gently placed the fingers upon England's lips to shush him. The smile on his mouth became wickedly cheeky. England recognised that smile; Ireland often used it to get him to lighten up. He knew it would only end with embarrassment for him regardless of the cheer instilled from it.

"So yer _do_ tink Oi'm attractive..."

If England's was heated before, it was a blacksmith's furnace after that comment. Ireland laughed without mockery. A genuinely surprised and adoring laugh that made England want to laugh with him. Ireland gave England a hearty hug, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around. This time, England did laugh and the sound was music to Ireland's ears. When Ireland put him down, he brought the blonde's hand to his lips and winked.

"Oi'm glad yer tink so but be careful, Art'ur, me noggin 'ill swell if yer keep strokin' me ego...Now aff yer go; Ela, Cari an' de babies are waitin' for yer downstairs..."

England hugged the man before he left, thoroughly red in the face but noticeably more cheerful. He enjoyed his walk with Mann, Wales, Canada and North. He enjoyed breathing in the fresh air all around him. He enjoyed basking in the sun that, unlike the cruel weather in which he felt he had lost everything, was warm and kind. He rejoiced in the knowledge that, although he had lost someone so, so important to him, he still had a family that he would never give up for the world.

"Mam, are yer alright?"

England looked at North who's tiny fists gripped his trouser and whose large, earnest eyes were directed at him full force. England thought before he responded. He didn't suppose that he would ever completely get over losing America. He certainly wasn't going to be back to his normal self any time soon. Being lost in the dark for so long had left him almost blind; he needed to find himself again. Political, social and economic situations were still hard, he was still so burdened with responsibility he wondered whether or not he would cope. Yet, deep sown he knew he would. He knew he would be alright as long as he kept on fighting and as long as his family were by his side. He was more centred than he had been in over two years and it felt wonderful. Blinded he may have been by his pain but now he was beginning to see things clearly for the first time as his life was soaked by the rays of the afternoon sun. He looked up and say his sister, his twin and Canada looking at him expectantly, even Canada's bear seemed to be waiting for his answer. He smiled and picked North up, holding him close.

"No, dearest child...but I know for sure I will be..."

* * *

><p>"OI, LIMEY! LOOK AT THIS PHONE MY BOSS GAVE ME!" <strong>(5)<strong>

America stormed through the meeting room, as energetic as always, and nearly scared half the nations to death.

"Oh _pipe down_, boy! Look there, you have made at least five nations clutch their chests in fright and let's not get started on Latvia! AND DO NOT CALL ME A LIMEY YOU BLASTED YANK!"

"Awww shucks, Artie-"

"-Arthur."

"As I was sayin', Artie, ya don't need to be so sour! You can't be sour towards ya favourite hero!"

England chuckled as Prussia, Russia as well as a couple of other nations let out a scoff as they made their way to their seats.

"I'm not very sure everyone agrees, love. Now, show us this phone that I am sure I will never be able to use..."

England's family watched the American excitement as he explained all of the things he could do with his iPhone, the elder blonde's expression rather confused as he adjusted his glasses to see better. It was incredible really. It was incredible how they went to having one of the worst relationships in the world to arguably the best. The alliances between The United Kingdom and The United States of America had brought together two people who never wanted to be torn apart in the first place. It was so obvious how much the men cared for each other and how at peace they felt in each other's company. Neither side would lie, however. There were still lingering traces of the frenzied grief that had consumed England all those years ago and America could often feel traces of that deep sorrow that had made him want to rip his own hair out on that stormy day. Yet they could never bring themselves to pay attention to that; not when they were finally back in each other's lives as friends and equals.

"Careful, wee Rocket, ye might be confusing poor Arthur there..." **(6)**

Though Scotland was, as was most of the UK family, weary about the relationship between England and America (what could he say, he didn't want to be attacked with a vase again!), he could see the ecstatic happiness that made the blonde's eyes shine with a blazing fire. He would tolerate the brat because he made the love of his life _happy_.

"Put a sock in it, Jimmy! Just cos he's ooold!" **(7)**

"Oi, watch your mouth..._About old_..." **(8)**

America laughed.

"Aww don't sweat it babe!"

England flushed and shouted indignantly.

"I am not your 'babe'!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya say, babe..."

America winked at the elder blonde and then turned to Scotland.

"Don't worry, bro! Since Iggy has someone as cool as me as his best friend, he'll soon be showing you the ropes! But then again..."

The blue-eyed teen's smile became a vicious smirk.

"If he can't understand this phone just yet cos of his age, then there's no chance in hell for you!"

England began to roar with laugher along with the majority of his family. Scotland and America shared one of their familiar moments of malice, the red-head promising suffering with his gaze and with a cocky glint the younger's eyes seemed to declare _'Come at me, bro!'_ America turned once more to England and the important task of teaching him how to use his phone. England briefly looked up and found America looking down at him adoringly. He raised a hand to cup the boys cheek.

"What is that look for?"

America sighed with joy as he covered England's hand with his own.

"I'm just so glad ta have ya back..."

England smiled back jubilantly, a feeling of deep peace caressing his soul. He could live with this. He may not be a parent to the boy but being his best friend was more than he had ever hoped for and he was eternally grateful.

"Me too, lad. _Me too_..."

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed that! Reviews, messages and constructive criticisms are always welcome! <strong>

**Notes:**

**(1): George III- was King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain (Ireland is not yet included but is a separate country under its control) during the Revolutionary War. Due to his crippling mental health problems, the country placed his son, George IV, as Prince Regent. George IV, however, was a quite an awful, selfish regent. During the war, two of his brothers, Alfred and Octavius died.**

**(2) Both Jamaica and India are still apart of the Empire at this point. They were some of the UK's oldest and most important 'possessions' so to me it makes sense that they would stay behind. **

**(3) Richard is the name I have chosen for Jamaica. It means 'Strong ruler'. Possible surnames are 'Grey' or 'St John'. **

**(4) Ajeet is a Hindi name that means 'unconquerable'. I think it's very fitting to the spirit of the Indian population under the British. **

**(5) Limey is a slur against the British. All our seamen had to down lime juice to ward of scurvy...**

**(6) Rocket = someone with too much energy.**

**(7) Jimmy = A general term for Scottish men**

**(8) In London (not too sure about the rest of the UK) when someone makes a comment that we find unbelievable or offensive we often say 'About _(insert offence/surprise word here)_ ' in order to emphasise it. It's kinda short for 'Oh talk about...'**


	13. History Two, Part One: I Understand Now

**HEY GUYS! Finally got another chapter written! It's the first of two parts. After the second part I will probably pick up from where I left off in chapter 11. Many thanks for everyone's constant support!**

**This is set during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, specifically in 1588 and the surrounding years. I honestly can't speak or right Shakespearean so yeah...And I also took a bit of literary license with the clothing...  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Everything except the plot and OCs are not mine!**

**Warnings: Both EnglandxWales and ScotlandxEngland!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Where is he?"<em>

It was only around nine in the morning and already Wales was worried. Despite it being a relatively warm summer, waiting around for England's ship to pull into the docks was a daunting business since he wasn't even sure when he would appear or even _if_ he would appear. His twin had left around five years previously in order to set sail for 'New Worlds' across the sea. It certainly wasn't his first trip and it definitely wouldn't be his last but Wales missed his grumpy twin. He was also extremely concerned since War with Spain was looming over the immediate horizon. Despite _not _wanting to be a part of his Kingdom, he_ did_ want to be with England in this trying time, especially since there were talks of a great 'Armada' that was set to be unleashed upon his brother's forces. It didn't help that the Queen's temper was all the more potent without the charismatic blonde. **(1)** He may have been a brigand and wild horse but that didn't mean that the woman didn't love her nation, the man she also called 'husband', any less. **(2) **The completely hateful chaos that was the relationships between his twin and France and Scotland did not help matters either. It was one thing fighting with Spain and the Papacy but Scotland and France were both family and fighting so viciously with his family had soured them all. Hell, even Wales was sour and that was an emotion he detested.

He ran a hand through his shoulder-length locks in frustration. When had everything become so difficult? It seemed to him that it was only yesterday that they were all happy under the adoring eyes of Britannia. A combination of invasion after invasion, horridly scaring experiences, specific rulers and a lack of sincere communication had all but wrecked that happiness. He had tried to talk to his twin about what had happened under the Roman Empire and all the other invaders that they have had before. He had told England about his own experiences in order to make him more comfortable with the subject and to show that he didn't have to suffer alone. He told him about how, despite the numerous good things the Roman Empire had brought them, he had been forced away from England to mine for gold through layer upon layer of solid rock with nothing but the clothes on his back and a tiny pick axe at the tender age of ten. How he almost had limbs completely blown away by deliberate explosions set off by the Romans in order to create more mines. How he was often whipped to go faster and how he had to watch his people suffer every day. **(3)** But England never budged. A furious look would come over his face but would morph into one of indifference. He had tried to talk to him about how he felt when Ireland had been forced to flee, when Britannia died or when he was taken away from both himself and Scotland but, again, he would never budge. How he wished things were simple again...

His thoughts were ceased when he heard several human voices calling to a ship that had appeared. He could immediately feel his twin's energy and at first his heart was exalted by joy. But, as he tapped into it more deeply, he could feel a fiery ferociousness that hadn't really been present before. A new found arrogance that covered up any worries he had held previously. His energy was devious, volatile and dangerous in a highly alluring manner. He could practically taste this new spiciness and dominant masculinity in his mouth.

As the ship sailed closer and closer, he began to feel very restless. He grew confused when he couldn't see his twin at first. His aura was beginning to almost suffocate his own in an attempt to see him submit. He held firm and made it clear that though England held authority over him, he would not so readily submit to him. The energy became softer then. It was still quite overbearing but was much gentler and he could tell that his twin was very happy to be able to see him again after five very long years. He waited patiently as the boat was anchored at the docks.

"CARIAD!~"

The loud, throaty call had startled him somewhat but before he had a chance to respond a figure had taken a rope and swung down recklessly to the ground. All Wales had to see was shabby wheat-coloured hair, piercing emerald eyes and larger-than-life eyebrows to know just who the man was.

"_Arthur!_"

Though it was a tad undignified, Wales ran over to his twin as fast as his legs could carry him. The large shadow that the magnificent galleon vessel had cast over the ground had created a slight chill despite the kindly weather. He embraced the man tightly, not taking in his appearance in his rush.

"I see that you have missed me..."

Wales hummed to confirm this but when did his twin's voice achieve such a pleasant sounding baritone? Had his twin always been an inch or two taller than him? He didn't care; all he cared about was that he was back home and thus back with him.

"I have indeed missed you, _Brawd._..You simply cannot fathom how much I have missed you..."

England chuckled at the use of Welsh. His brother was technically not supposed to speak it in his presence but he never did have the heart to tell him not too. A language was just one of the many things that personally belonged to a nation. Taking away a language was like taking a part of their soul and he_ loved _Wales' soul. He spoke quietly in the other man's language, making Wales' smile.

"Well that does please me. It pleases me very much because I have missed you too. Now, lift your fair face to me so that I can see you properly..."

Wales did as he was told and his mouth almost fell open in shock at the sight that greeted him as he looked up and down. England was dressed in attire he had never seen him wear before. He had loose fitting black trousers that were held at the waist by a dark red sash. His shirt, which was stained by days, if not months, of wear, clung to his attractive figure, damp with sweat and sea spray. It was tied at the top with leather cords and a rather sloppily done, but still rather neat, dark-coloured cravat embraced his neck. Long emerald and gold earrings were donned by his dainty lobes, framing his face and complimenting his fiery emerald eyes rather splendidly. Two gold studs above them glinted prettily in the sun. Then there was the coat. He had to admit that it was probably the best coat in the entire Kingdom if not Europe simply because it suited England so well. The heavy red fabric billowed awesomely behind him in the gentle wind, giving him a regal appearance. The shoulders were padded and decorated with a black material that was fringed. Big gold buttons as well as the golden embroidery that detailed the front and the shoulders shone impressively in the sun. The coat came down to just below his knees and his feet donned knee-high laced leather boots. A privateer? Pfft. His brother was still a fully-fledged pirate and a captain at that.

"I see that you are still as fair in countenance as I remember so why do your brows lift themselves upward with surprise? You will mar your delicate features by doing that..."

Wales snapped out of his observation and blushed heavily at the sultry smirk sent his way. Why did God continue to curse him with such a roaring passion for the man who was, in all intents and purposes, his captor? **(4)**

"It makes me happy that you still find me pleasing. And forgive me, Brawd, I was merely surprised at your attire and how well it suits you..."

England's smirk only seemed to widen.

"Thank you. I _was_ wondering what you would think of my vestments but I am comforted by your words. And do not fret, my _Cariad_, I will show you just_ how _pleasing I find you in my chambers at the Castle if you would oblige me...Now follow me, my dearest wife...I must see the Queen as soon as possible..."

Wales' face became a blacksmith's furnace at the comment. He followed the man after getting over his shock, muttering a vicious 'I am _not_ your _wife_..." His stomach had tied itself in knots and it seemed as if butterflies had suddenly erupted from within. He realised he would have to become accustomed to England's new found sex appeal. The man had always had it but it was rather subdued and quiet. Now he was seemingly tapping into its full potential.

They travelled that afternoon with trustworthy humans sent by the Queen herself and they had been the humans that rode with Wales to the docks and he knew they were nothing if not efficient. Their strong horses walked at a leisurely pace as they approached Windsor Castle.** (5)** All-in-all the ride took two days and one night.

"How did they treat you whilst I was away, Fair One?"

Wales bit his lip discreetly. He couldn't get away from the jibes about his being Welsh but it really didn't bother him so much any more. England on the other hand was not so kind. It wasn't the first time that England would ask him that question with a sinister undertone that made a shiver crawl up his spine. He knew that someone's life could very well be continued or ended depending on his answer.

"The treated me most kindly, _my Lord_..."

With so many other people around, Wales had to address England by his title. He _hated_ to, though. It demonstrated a subservience that he abhorred. Yet his statement was true overall. Elizabeth I _was _kind of sympathetic to his plight and was often very nice to him. It helped that she liked him personally too; often saying he was a very respectable, beautiful and kind man. She tried to instil even a small sense of respect in those around him though whether or not she was successful is debatable. England, despite asking, never really believed the answers given to him but if Wales didn't give him any other indication that someone wasn't treating him badly then he couldn't do very much about it.

"I see..."

They reached the castle to a flurry of welcoming humans. England couldn't help but grin. He knew his _Gloriana _**(6a)**wouldn't really approve of his clothing but he liked to rile up the fiery red-head all the same. His persistent impish behaviour towards the Queen had earned him the dislike of several, if not the majority, of the nobles and he loved every second of it because they truly could do nothing to him. He stormed through the corridors with Wales by his side, very much looking as if he owned the entire place. In a sense he did own it. Everything built upon the body that was his land was, in effect, _his_. He did at least remember his manners as he waited outside the doors of the Grand Hall and Throne Room patiently until he was called. As soon as the door opened he strode purposefully towards the woman that came third in his heart only to his Mother and Mann. He could already see the relief in his monarch's eyes turn to disgust at his clothing. He bowed down lowly in front of his Virgin Queen **(6b)** and kissed the ring on her outstretched hand and when he raised himself with the woman's permission, Wales did the same. He waited for his Queen to speak.

"And what is it that you are wearing in my Court, Lord Kirkland?"

England grinned.

"Your Grace, if I was not as bold as both yourself and your Court know me to be, I would reply with apologies. But since I _am_ so bold I would reply that in your Court, at this very moment, my Queen, I am wearing clothing...You are an intelligent lass and yet you ask the most baffling questions..."

Subdued gasps were heard from various members of the Court but Wales had to hold back a snicker.

They could not believe the impudence of that man! Nation or not, every member of her Majesty's court must show the due respect to the monarch. They were all hoping that the Tudor Queen would finally lock him in the Tower or at least whip him into curbing his impertinence. Their prayers seemed to have been answered when the Regnant narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Piracy is not something I tolerate in my Court or Realm and neither is insolence..." **(7)**

England simply chuckled and raised his chin all the higher.** (8)**

"You sadden me, my Queen. Why it you encourage and reward gentlemen such as Sir Francis Drake for exactly what I do now, pillaging Spanish ships, and punish me? And we both know that your previous attempts to punish me in order to teach me a lesson were unsuccessful as I am still here now, scars upon my back and all, _and_ I am still engaging in the art you so hate! ...Hmm...Being drowned or burnt at the stake has not worked to curb my misbehaviour in the past...nor has being stabbed repeatedly or hung...Although the scars from them remain. Perhaps a beheading will do?"

Elizabeth sucked in a shaky breath in order to control her temper as her dainty fingers massaged her temple.

"You have always been very bold but now your cheek is to the point of being insufferable...I am your Queen and by convention something like a wife since I consider myself married to no one but my Nation..."

England's smirk became feral and Wales brought his hands together in worry. Yes, his brother had been hanged before and whipped as well as burnt at the stake, drowned and stabbed more than once and that obviously didn't work but he wasn't all too sure if a beheading would be as unsuccessful...He didn't want his twin to be hurt or worse because he couldn't control his arrogance.

"Yes, that is true, my Liege, but as far as I know I am married to _no one_ save _one_ nation and you are the first servant of my State...You must understand that you can only leash a Nation so much before they become exasperated. I try to please you but I fear that at this time in my life I may never be the man you want me to be. But I will continue to try and I will not complain, for I love you _dearly_, my friend and Queen and thus I wear the second ring on my marriage finger with pride..."

Elizabeth blushed but before she could say anything a noble shouted out against England. The noble stormed up to the teenage looking Nation and his eyes burned with fury. England looked at him with a levelled gaze; completely cool and without a single ounce of intimidation or fear.

"You, Sir, are a _disgrace _to this court and a petulant whelp at that! Your deplorable acts of piracy and the manner in which you address our Sovereign Lady are unpardonable! If it were up to me, I would not tolerate such impudence, even from my 'Nation', I -"

Quicker than the human eye could register, England whipped out a golden, jewelled rapier from the sash on his waist and propelled forward it with dangerous accuracy. He didn't wish to kill the man, just to scare him and thus the sword was pointed straight at his throat, creating an ominous indent. England's eyes glowed with venom as he ran the tip of the blade along the man's neck and left a long, bleeding cut in its wake. His mouth was set into an animalistic snarl. None of the others dared speak out; they were not willing to be on the receiving end of the avatar's anger. The Noble's previous passion had left him completely, leaving a debilitating and unbearable fear in its wake.

"And is that how you address your Nation, Human? Is that how you address the personification of the very soil you stand upon? How dare you address the man whose lands provide you with everything you need for absolutely nothing except protection and reverence with such disrespect? A petulant whelp? Hah! When you have suffered as I have then you may be free to say such disgustingly offensive things."

England sneered at the man; the fury in his eyes and the dominance in his posture coupled with his very youthful face made him a truly frightening sight to behold. Wales hated it when his twin got like this; it wasn't him. The England he knew was, yes, a tad unpredictable but he was _kind_. The man in front of him lacked any notion of kindness. As he squared up to the cowering human noble he was truly brutal.

"Be not mistaken, _Sir_, I am also a servant here by nature but if I were not I would have you locked _my _Tower **(9)** and cut out your tongue...Next time you speak to me in such a manner, I will not be so kind as to just graze your filthy skin...Anything that concerns me is certainly not up to you, so do not waste my time with such _foolish_ notions...Do I make myself clear?"

When the commotion had died down and order had been restored, Elizabeth addressed England once again.

"Really, one person with a fiery temper is enough...Now, what are you to do with those vestments, dear Nation?"

The nobles still retained the hope that the Nation would be respond humbly. Their hopes were dashed at the stone walls as soon as England spoke.

"They shall remain draped upon my person. I highly doubt that these fine gentlemen-"

England gesticulated mockingly at the Court surrounding him.

"Would want to see my nakedness despite it being a glorious sight to behold..."

Wales resisted the urge to nod in agreement. The bristled nobles seethed; surely the Lady of the Realm would punish him _now_. Their hopes were run over by a plough horse the moment Elizabeth burst out into laughter, her ashen face becoming alive with a merry colour.

"Oh but I have missed your cheek, Lord Kirkland, as insufferable as it is at times! And you, _Sir _Kirkland, how do you fare?" **(10)**

The nobles seemed to like Wales if only for his respectful behaviour and kind, gentle manner in comparison with his twin's. Wales blushed slightly at being addressed so suddenly but replied softly after bowing.

"I fare the same, your Majesty. I thank the good Lord for my health and you for your kindness..."

Elizabeth smiled benevolently at the dark-haired man.

"You are much too gracious and kind, Sir Kirkland. If only _all_ men were as sweet as yourself. Also, I can only imagine how much you have missed your brother being his twin if I, myself, have missed him terribly...I do not think I can say the same for most of the Court however..."

Wales chuckled as he nodded and responded softly, a gentle smile etched onto his face as he glanced briefly at the blonde by his side.

"That I did, your Majesty. I have missed him _terribly_ every single day since he departed five years ago. I can only hope that those feelings of loneliness were present in my brother's heart whenever he thought of me on his voyage..."

England was thankful that no one noticed the dopey smile on his face and the rose tinge to his cheeks. Elizabeth continued to smile as she took in what the Welsh avatar had said. Her face then became serious as she called them to a more private planning room with her War Ministers and other men that would lead her forces against Spain and his Philip II. By the time England and Wales had managed to get back to England's chamber, the blonde man was frustrated and restless with the stress of planning a war against Spain _and_ finding out that his eldest brother was due in the Court the very next day in order to discuss possibilities of his King James VI becoming King of both of them upon the death of his Queen, since she was not married and had no heirs. Scotland was still sour about the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, and meeting him again after _years_ would not be easy. The only reason he even knew about the execution in the first place was because a letter (one that had been sent with a ship that was going to join him in the New World) had been sent to him for Christ's sake! **(11)**

"_Please _rest, Brawd. You are exhausted from your journey and I am sure that your campaign against Spain will go well..."

England whipped his head round to snap at Wales.

"And what should happen if I lose? I will not see Europe kick me down again and again like a dog like they have done before! You should not comment on matters you do not understand!" **(12)**

Wales' eyes went wide and then sad as he brought his legs up to his chest on England's bed. He did not like it when the other man shouted at him in such a manner when all he wished to do was help him. He didn't like always being pushed away by the one person he loved the most; it broke is heart.

He heard a mournful sigh and felt the bed dip but did not turn to face the blonde. It was only when a gentle, war-calloused hand wiped a tear upon his cheekbone that he realised he was crying. Damn his sensitivity.

"Forgive my harshness, Dear One. All of this is certainly not your fault and thus I should not treat you so..."

Wale sniffed slightly as he tried to wipe his eyes. He tone was bitter and frustrated.

"My country may have been annexed by yours, Brawd, but _do __**not **_treat me as the nobles sometimes treat the maids and servants of this Castle..._Do_ _**not**_ treat me thus when all I wish to do is be your aid in these times of strife..."

England did feel terribly guilty. He cupped the dark-haired man's cheek as he pressed a chaste but adoring kiss on the other.

"I am rather ashamed. I have only been in your company for two days and I have already caused you misery..."

Wales smiled somewhat sorrowfully as he rested his forehead against England's.

"No, no...I understand that you are under a great deal of stress...but please understand how much it upsets me when you treat me thus...It really _is_ heart breaking..."

England smiled dolefully as he held Wales' hands in his.

"I do understand...You deserve none of this; not such horrid treatment nor my ruling over you...No one so beauteous should have to suffer so...I am sorry..."

Wales smiled kindly as he raised England's hands to kiss them. The blonde man returned the smile.

"So does that mean I am forgiven for my deplorable behaviour?"

Wales grinned and brought his arms around England in a strong embrace, which England returned.

"Yes. Yes you are..."

England nuzzled the smooth skin of the dark-haired man's neck gently.

"Well at least someone forgives me...I am not certain whether our eldest brothers or Francis will be as merciful...but I do not care as long as I have you...As long as you are here with me, I will want for nothing else...I do not need their love when I have yours..."

England kissed Wales' shoulder chastely and he spoke passionately.

"_I love you..._"

Wales felt a heavy feeling settle in his heart but blushed at the loving and honest words.

"You had no knowledge of the execution of Alas' Queen. How could you if you were at sea for over five years? Padraig? Well, you have warned the Queen more than once to treat both him and his people well and yet she still considers him a savage... So I do not know what else you can do. And France, well, I am sure that you will enjoy each other's friendship once again in the future..." **(13)**

Wales played gently with the ends of England's shoulder length hair and his hands stroked the man's slightly bearded jaw.

"_I love you__ too_...More than anything besides my country and people, _I __**love**_ _you_. But you know deep down in your heart that you _do _want for their love. But for now I will love you all the more, though it seems impossible, if only to make up for their lack of it..."

The Englishman hummed and embraced the man tighter but then heaved out a huge sigh as the feelings of sorrow festered in his heart.

"My shoulders are so burdened that I am not sure how much more weight they can support..."

Wales ran his dainty fingers through his twin's hair.

"That is why I wish to help you...Let me fight with you when you meet Spain on the seas..."

England snapped his head upwards and glared vehemently at the other man.

"You will do no such thing! I am not going to risk you getting hurt because of _my _wars!"

Wales cupped England's face and the determination in his eyes was unwavering.

"I _will_ do such a thing, Brawd. You are both the man I call 'brother' _and_ my husband! Is it so wrong of me to want to support you? I will not stand by and let Catholic Europe tear you apart!"

England gritted his teeth.

"Can you not see that I want you safe? I want you here where no harm will come to you!"

Wales shook his head.

"No! That is _not _an option. I will not be like a normal wife waiting for her husband to come home. I am a man and I want to prove myself worthy to fight by your side! I am tired of the people here taking my skills for granted and thinking that I am useless; _let me show them what I can do_."

England shouted in distress.

"_And what would happen should I not come home?_"

Wales' eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

England's face was painted with deep distress.

"I mean, _Brawd_ that I could very well lose this war regardless of whether or not you are there by my side. I would rather you remain here where you will not be witness to such a disgrace should it occur..."

Wales understood his brother's worries but they still did not change his mind in the slightest.

"Well even if this battle does end in defeat, I want to be right by your side to comfort and to support you..."

Confronted with such determination and with such sincerity, England acquiesced. He wasn't happy about it, but he figured that fighting with his twin would only make him stronger. England spat out his words.

"_Fine_...Do as you wish for all I care..."

Though the answer was rather harsh, Wales knew that it was only to cover up England's worry. He smiled widely.

"I am glad that you have agreed to my request. Now I do believe I shall agree to yours..."

England's eyes widened to the size of saucers as Wales pushed him backwards to straddle him. The dark-haired twin's eyes were alight with a desire that England found very attractive. Though many thought they looked the same, England could clearly see the physical differences between them.

Wales was much, much sweeter looking and seemed to radiate warmth. He was charming in a very innocent and benevolent way. His pink lips set in a luscious pout. A couple of freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His skin was smooth and rich with a colour only the sun could create. The man was rather petite and delicate looking but his spine was strong and his hands calloused through hard work. His dark, wavy hair was thick upon his head and the loose curls tumbled beautifully upon his shoulders. His forest green eyes were wider than England's but were alight with a mischievous passion. As sweet as he was however, England often attributed the adjective 'impish' to him, especially when he smirked or gave him _'The Look'_.

England on the other hand was much colder in appearance and had much sharper facial features. He was charming but in a more dangerous, less innocent way. His brother was _'beautiful'_ but he was often described as _'handsome'_. His hair was the colour of wheat and barley in the golden summer sun and usually did not tumble about his shoulders, but was maintained short about his ears. His five years at sea changed this however, the hair now going slightly past his shoulders in very gentle waves. Golden hair framed his jaw since he hadn't shaved for a while. His skin was as alabaster as the moonlight but, much like Wales, he also had a set of freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks. His lips were thinner than Wales' and his eyes narrower. His body was also somewhat broader but not by very much.

"What are you doing, Cariad?"

Wales tilted the head to the side coquettishly as he ran delicate fingers through his lover's long tresses.

"I am simply reminding you, _Arthur, _that you need to show me just how pleasing you find me..."

England's eyes darkened as he remembered his promise. His hands raised themselves to settle upon Wales' hips. The Welshman smirked as his bent his head to whisper in England's ear, his voice husky and rich with a seductive undertone. In England's mind, his voice was pure music.

"After five years of being without you, I am at the point of starvation..._Your lips are like wine, and I want to get __**drunk**_..." **(14)**

England pulled the man upwards by his hair and kissed him _hard_. He adored how Wales knew of his love of Shakespeare's works. His hands moved downwards to cup Wales' rear as he ground his hips upwards. Wales briefly broke the kiss to cry out softly, his head tilting backwards and his body hyper-sensitive. England swallowed the rest of his cries as his lips captured Wales' in a passionate dance once again. When they had parted, England couldn't help but smirk at Wales' already dishevelled appearance, rouge-tinted face and heaving chest. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused; he looked completely intoxicated. England grinned fondly and without mockery as he stroked the boy's cheek indulgently.

"You are a danger to all men and yet you cannot handle your wine, Sweet One..."

England stripped Wales of his trousers and undergarments with such a desperate fervour that he was sure that he wouldn't stop even if someone burst into his chambers. Wales, too, removed England's clothing with shaky hands.

"My...*gulp*...my tunic..."

England watched the mesmerising way Wales' throat moved as he gulped. He kissed that throat whilst loosening the ties on his tunic before removing it completely. He licked his lips as Wales was fully revealed to him. His eyes raked up and the lithe body straddling him; a passionate and possessive fire burned within his orbs. He began to prepare the other with oil by his bedside.

"_Please, Brawd_..."

England chuckled as he laid kisses upon Wales' ear. He could taste the sweat and feel the boiling heat on the man's skin.

"I would keep your voice down if I were you, Cariad. Others would not take too..._kindly_ to finding us in this position...Now; spread yourself for me, my _beautiful_ Dove..."

Wales nodded dumbly as he bit his bottom lip in a valiant effort to keep the moans at bay.

"It is such a shame you have to keep such a divine voice behind those rose-tinted lips..."

As he moved to ride the man under him, Wales realised just how much he had missed England as he rocked his hips sluggishly. For five long years he had missed the man, his voice, his touch, his gaze; everything. He missed both the physical and the spiritual fullness brought about when they together and when the coupled. He just couldn't keep his sounds of pleasure at bay for very long. He would cry out and moan albeit very quietly. He looked down at England as he ran his hands through his damp hair. He would cup the blonde's cheeks and kiss him until he was on the brink of passing out just to make sure the beautiful man in front of him was real. The blonde smiled, showing a pearly canine as his hands settled on the man's lithe thighs. He pecked the dark-haired man chastely on the lips and spoke softly before thrusting upwards at his prostate and making Wales _scream_.

"I may rule your country, my _Cariad_...but your thighs certainly do rule me..."

* * *

><p>"Must you see my brother today, your Majesty?"<p>

Elizabeth turned to the source of the voice. England was on top of a window sill, leaning against its frame scowling at the view outside. His hair was tied back with a ribbon much like his twin' and he also managed to find time to shave. They were currently in one of the smaller, more private rooms of the Castle waiting for Scotland's arrival. Wales stood quietly to the Queen's left. The red-headed Queen gave Wales a quizzical look, silently asking whether or not the two neighbouring Nations could actually dislike each other so much despite sharing Kinship, although, now that she thought about her own family, she could relate. **(15)** Wales simply smiled and nodded. The Tudor shook her head and sighed as she turned to the direction of the English Kingdom. She still abhorred those clothes he was wearing but never could manage to get him to change out of them.

"Of course I must, Arthur...The sooner we resolve any difficulties the better. Remember, my dearest Nation, I shall not be here forever and I am sure my time will come with the next century..."

England swallowed a lump in his throat. He was thankful that this particular position obscured his face from view. In fact, if Scotland came through the doors he would only see Wales and the Queen unless he looked to his left.

"Do not speak of such things, your Majesty...It causes me a pain that you will never have to experience..."

Elizabeth turned to look at her nation sympathetically.

"I do know what it feels like to lose a dear companion, my friend. But I shall not speak with regards passing any longer if it upsets you so."

England smiled kindly at the ageing woman.

"Thank you, Elizabeth...Ah I do believe that my brother has arrived..."

Well, if the booming voice, thickly accented with a distinctive Scottish husk, was anything to go by...As soon as the door opened the tall nation strode purposefully and calmly towards the Queen. His heavy cloak billowed awesomely behind him. He did not bow, but instead nodded his head. He could feel the heavy aura of his blonde brother but he could not see him, which caused him to frown with suspicion. Much like Wales before, he could feel the change in his brother's energy and it unsettled him. He was unsettled even further when the energy disappeared like a phantom. On England's end, he smirked at the red-head's confusion of his hidden aura but couldn't help it when his eyes roamed the elder's strong, chiselled face that was framed by a short, fiery beard that met a moustache in the most splendid of manners as well as by a head of thick sunset-coloured hair and his supple yet strapping body .

"You do not bow to me in my own Castle, Lord Kirkland?"

Scotland smirked.

"Nae, your Majesty...Yoou are nae _mah_ ruler..." **(16)**

Elizabeth could feel England's anger spike suddenly but Wales could even taste its bitter flavour. To Scotland it felt like a punch to the gut. He raised his own energy in fury against the hidden blonde and nearly yelled in frustration when the energy disappeared again. The Queen simply smirked back.

"Well, Sir, if your King very well becomes the ruler of your brothers after my passing, you would surely wish for them to bow to him, if only in courtesy...Thus, why do you not lead by example?"

Scotland bristled but still made no move to bow.

"Ah will nae bow tae the woman who killed mah Queen an' Ah _refuse_ tae bow tae th' ruler uv th' English..."

Elizabeth stood up then, rage building in her storm-coloured eyes. England smiled; that's his Queen!

"I did that because she posed a significant risk to my position in my own Kingdom, _Sir_! I will not have my rule usurped by any Prince of Europe nor by any other monarch who claims _my_ throne!

You forget that she was my flesh and blood; it was not an easy decision for me to make! Surely, you would have done the same for I know of the various encounters you have had with England where you both have been more than willing to destroy each other. Do not preach mercy to me here, Sir, when you and your people showed no mercy to your Queen! And I believe that I deserve respect English or not!"

Scotland continued his stony glare and his heavily accented voice came out through gritted teeth. Though he was perfectly fluent in English, he considered it a secondary language as well as a language that tasted foul on his tongue.

"What my..._brother_ and Ah dae is _none _of your business, _Madame_. _Yoour _kind have already _corrupted_ him against me, a feat that neither Rome nor the Viking nations o' th' North nor the Normans managed tae dae and ye have _stolen_ mah other tae brothers from me as well. May Ah remind _yoou_, Madame, that it was yer faether that commenced aggressions against me after years of quiet tensions an' killed mah King, adding _insult_ tae injury... **(17)**. Not only that but ye sign a treaty wi' mah present King only tae have his mother executed a year later! And despite mah disagreements wi' Mary, she was still my people, _my_ child! A nation _cannae_ ignore that!"

Wales could tell that the Queen was beginning to lose her patience. A loud bang was heard then, startling all of them. They all looked to the source of the commotion and Scotland's eyes widened rather dramatically.

There was England, coat billowing from his sudden movement and a gun cocked in his direction. Thick smoke poured out of him and he knew that if he looked behind him, there would be a bullet in the wall. He was also surprised at England clothing and his new maturity; it seemed as if his baby brother had managed to grow a pair. Against his will his eyes became dilated with lust. The man he grudgingly called 'brother' had always been a sight for sore eyes but he was certainly becoming a most enchanting and stunning creature. England spoke in Scottish Gaelic, much to the Queen's dismay as she couldn't understand it. Both Scotland and Wales were rather surprised at how fluently it rolled off of England's tongue. He was always rather good with languages, hell, he was already fluent not only in almost every language of the British Isles and Ireland, but he was also fluent in at least five or six others as well!

"You are not here to have a debate with my Queen, _Scotland_. You are here to discuss succession to the throne of my Kingdom..." **(18)**

Scotland snarled and his eyes narrowed with venom.

"Ah coulds very well cut oout that tongue,_ boy_. That is nae th' way ye shoulds speak tae me..."

England smirked as he put his gun away.

"And I could shoot your head from your shoulders should you even _think_ to try...You in _my_ Home, Scotland. You would do well to remember this. And besides, you would not want to cut off my tongue if you knew just what..._talents_ it possesses."

Wales could feel a very, _very_ powerful flame of jealousy ignite in his chest. His heart felt heavy like lead. He knew of his twin's desire for the elder but it was still hard to have it shoved in his face. The chemistry between the two was electric and the desire practically palpable with how _blatant_ it was. He didn't like it but there was nothing he could do.

England noticed the bitter fury and acidic jealousy in his twin's usually sweet and tender energy. He turned to see the other's face contorted with the emotions coursing through him. He gazed at him levelly, a moment of understanding passed between them that neither Scotland nor Elizabeth even wished to come between. Theirs was a bond that was incredibly special and the silent communication and understanding between them awe-inspiring. Wales felt his furious envy cool a couple of minutes into the silent conversation between himself and England. England made his devotion to Wales clear and, though he was _far_ from happy, the dark-haired man comforted himself with the knowledge that he was England's first love and first spouse and he shared a bond with the blonde that no one could even fathom. England could tell, however, that the Welshman would probably never let this slide.

Scotland was very well aware of this and, unlike Elizabeth who found it simply fascinating, he still felt bristled. He knew it was best not to fan the flames any further however, even though it didn't help that England's words had left him very hot under the collar. Discussion commenced and everyone found that the atmosphere was extremely tense. Despite this they had managed to get some work done.

Scotland was surprised by one thing however. He was expecting Wales to be just as bitter as himself if not more so. Whilst Scotland's independence was being threatened, Wales' was as good as gone. Ireland, too, was under heavy English rule and he absolutely _loathed_ it but, then again, Elizabeth was not too fond of him either, often calling both him and his people 'savage' and 'barbarous'. She wished for his nation to be treated well enough so that she didn't have to bother with them, but hardly showed remorse should the need for bloodshed arise. But at least he was in his own lands. Wales was stuck here but he looked...content. Sure, he couldn't disguise the sadness and the wish to be free in his eyes but he looked..._comfortable_ next to his twin and the woman he was forced to call Queen. Then again, he did expect Elizabeth to be like some of the monarchs England had; arrogant to a fault, greedy, uncaring or just completely and utterly incompetent. Yet she treated both of them with a respect that was almost unheard of. Even Wales and himself she treated with respect. She was fiery and at times uncaring and bitter but at least she was courteous. He still didn't like her or any one in England for that matter for all they had done to his country, but he could kind of see why his English brother liked her so much.

* * *

><p>"Arthur...I am to retire now. Please show Lord Kirkland to his chambers. Sir Kirkland, would you please see to it that the rest of the gentlemen that have accompanied your Brother are shown to their chambers?"<p>

Both England and Wales bowed lowly to the departing Queen.

"**Your will be done, your Majesty...**"

With a good night wish for all three nations, Elizabeth departed and was followed closely by an aged Walsingham, an elderly Lord Burghley and her closest attendants. Wales turned to embrace his twin.** (19)**

"I shall see you tomorrow, Brawd..."

England smiled gently but his eyes let Wales know that, despite his feelings being out of his control, he was _sorry_.

"Sweet dreams, my Dove..."

Wales turned to Scotland and embraced him too.

"It has been good to be in your company again, Brawd..."

Though Scotland felt distinctly uncomfortable in the Castle, he smiled too.

"Aye...it has been guid tae see ye again..."

With a fond smile and jealous eyes Wales began to lead Scotland's party away to their resting places for the next two nights. The rise in tension was so damn palpable between the two remaining nations that even servants were still milling about scurried away. Scotland spoke first as England led him through the grand home of his monarch.

"Ye let Cari speak Welsh..."

England nodded.

"Yes, but only around myself. He is too frightened to speak it to any other and he would risk punishment otherwise...He is forced to remain here and so the least I can do is lend him my ear to his Welsh tongue." **(20)**

Scotland made a sound of derision as they approached the chamber that was to be his for the duration of his stay.

"That's exactly why ah dislike ye...ye and ye blasted people. Yer so_ intolerant_ uv anythin' different tae ye."

England stared coldly at the corridor ahead of him. His eyes were remorseful but icy.

"The laws of my Kingdom are not decided by me...If I could have my way Cariad would be able to speak any language he wants with complete freedom. I would even let him speak the language of that filthy Spaniard for all I care...He would be able to sing those songs of old that use to flow from his heart. "

Scotland looked pensive.

"But cannae ye dae anythin' aboout it?"

England scoffed.

"I wish I did have the power to change the Law but, alas, not even my Queen has opted to change it. Thus, before you criticise me for being_ 'intolerant'_, make sure you understand that. I could hardly care less about the differences amongst us all on this great Earth, I, myself, being made up of many differences, but I am merely a servant here...much like yourself in your own Nation..."

Scotland held his tongue, surprised at the wisdom emanated from the youth next to him. After a while however, the silence became unbearable.

"Ye've _changed_...yer more mature and such...How auld are ye now in human years?"

England turned to look at his companion and decided to humour him.

"I am physically around seventeen or eighteen summers old...and yourself?"

"Ah am five and twenty..."

England simply nodded in response.

"Ah havenae seen ye in _years_...Ah didnae expect ye tae be so big..."

England turned his gaze away, a scowl on his handsome face. Why did his brother insist on talking?

"_Of course I have grown_. I am not as _weak_ and as _undeveloped_ as both you and Western Europe seem to think me to be...I am no longer the child you _abandoned_ to Rome at Hadrian's Wall centuries ago..." **(21)**

England's comment made Scotland flinch.

"Ah _didnae_ abandon ye...There was nothin' Ah could dae..."

England turned to glare at Scotland.

"Is that what you say in order to comfort yourself at night? You have simply _no idea_ what happened to me under Rome and all the other invaders I have had..."

Scotland frowned at the ferocity in England's voice but was not intimidated.

"Francis has given me an idea but he didnae say much, only that he wouldnae have wanted tae be in yer situation...Somethin' about respectin' yer wishes because he practically raised yer up..."

It was England's turn to flinch.

"Even now that _fool_ cares about me..."

Scotland smiled.

"Ov course he does. Sometimes yer all he ever talks about..."

England's eyes softened.

"Is that so?"

Scotland simply nodded.

"Aye...He _loves_ ye, wee one, even though ye both hate each other and often curse each other tae th' depths uv hell..."

England replied with a 'hmph' sound.

Scotland knew he was entering dangerous territory but he simply had to know what happened to England all those years ago. He figured that their relationship couldn't possibly be made any worse.

"What happened, England...Ye know, when yoou were wi' Rome...an' after that..."

As expected, England's glare was venomous and his toxic eyes were alight with fury.

"Why would I tell you such a thing? So that you can mock me or pity me? I do not want for either for I have enough of both..."

Scotland shook his head.

"_Nae_. Ye dornt want pity sae Ah won't give it tae ye. Ye dornt deserve mockery if this is yer reaction tae yer experiences even being _mentioned_..."

England looked pensive for a moment and then sighed.

"Fine...but I shall not speak of such things here. If you would oblige me, I would much prefer speaking of such things in the privacy of your chambers..."

England opened the door and let Scotland go in first. He closed the door behind him and then leant on it, eyes closed in deep concentration. How in the name of Hell did he find himself in these situations? He was about to bare his soul to a man he disliked with a fiery intensity. How _ridiculous_...Yet he couldn't find it in his heart to deny the elder. He supposed it was the lonely child within him wishing so badly for the one person he used to look up to the most to just understand _why_ he was the way he was. He opened his eyes and saw Scotland sitting on the bed, waiting patiently. England turned his gaze away and stared at the fire that had been lit in the room.

"Though we had met him before and though he had stayed in our country with Mother for a couple of years, Rome was not always the most welcome presence in our lands as you already know. I suppose it was just the fact that after years of doing things our own way, we were not looking to replace our system with another's. Bitter fighting broke out. One of the greatest revolts being Boudica's..." **(22)**

A poignant look came over the blonde's eyes.

"Her husband, leader of the Iceni, had died but made it clear he wished for his tribe to be jointly ruled by both his daughters and Rome as he was an ally of theirs. Yet when he died that bastard turned his back on his word. The Kingdom was annexed as if it were a simple conquest, the Queen was publicly flogged, shaming and humiliating her and all her daughters were raped. To add insult to injury, Roman financiers called in their loans."

England's expression soured further.

"She led a revolt but it was defeated. My dear Queen committed suicide..."

England looked up to Scotland.

"I was physically too young to fight by her side but I was with her when she passed away...I was powerless to stop my occupation..."

England turned away once more.

"Wales and his people fought until the bitter end too. We both resisted with a ferociousness that would have made both you and Ireland _proud_. We resisted and we never bowed down but Wales' Druids were massacred, my people had lost and we became Roman colonies along with our sickly Mother..."

England paused for a long while.

"When Rome took control of our lands, he sent us all to his own House. Though we were already weary with homesickness we at least had each other...We missed our blessed Earth, our wondrous Gulf Stream, our rivers, mountains and forests. We missed our battle ready, hardy and tough men _and_ women who we would ride with Pride into battle with. But we missed you, Eire and Ela most of all. It did not take me long to realise just _how_ deeply I loved Cariad...Besides Mother, he was my entire _life_, Scotland, and my very first love at that. He was a reminder of the beauty we were forced to leave behind and every day I would look at him and see Mother in his gaze. I _knew_ I could be strong and see the future through if Rome would let him remain with me."

And for a while it did look as if he would let him remain with me. He built huge roads, two of which are now motorways, which connected our countries properly for the first time. He developed links and routes and encouraged us to stay together at his House."

England's eyes darkened and a glaze of deep, unrelenting sadness washed over them.

"His actions ended with the death of our Mother...And I know you resent me for it and I know you wish it was me who died instead of her but I was there and she _begged _me to keep on living and to keep Cariad alive with me; to protect him. I was there as our Mother's body turned to dust. I held her but Cariad was held by Rome. That bastard hardly found it noteworthy since our mother was one of the 'most savage of nations and Venus would surely shy away from such a hideous countenance.' I knew that he only said that because she would always reject his advances. He was always a sore loser."

Scotland could feel the hate for the deceased nation deep within his chest flaring to life but also a deep sadness. He could never forgive himself for not being there at his mother's death and, yes, he could suppose that he was rather envious that England was able to be with her. He didn't resent England for it nor did he wish that he had died instead however. England and Wales looked so much like the woman they called 'Mother' it was almost unbelievable. They all use to look at him so lovingly with matching expressions and when they smiled it was as if the sun had finally found its match. When Britannia died, all that he, Mann and Eire had left of her had been two angel faced babes who used to look at them all as if they could not possibly love another more; as if their heart would shatter into a million pieces if he were to try. England especially; from the moment he had first held England, the boy had adored _him _in particular, perhaps because he didn't see much of Mann or Ireland. He would look at Scotland as if he was his hero and his inspiration. He was his angel-faced babe who's smile made him want for nothing else. Thus he could never wish for the other's death. He could never wish for the other's death because he made a promise to that gentle woman to love him forever. He could not bear to hate the face that reminded him of kinder times.

"I did not even have time to gather our Mother's ashes before I dragged away with Cari, kicking and screaming, to a ship that took us back to Rome's House where we remained unless he allowed us to visit our lands and until we were no longer a part of his Empire. At least Mother was able to die on her lands I suppose..."

Scotland could feel goose bumps appear on his arms as England's energy tinged to black.

"When it seemed as though nothing else would be taken away from us, that _bastard_ changed his mind about letting Cariad remain with me... Rome took Cariad away...He took him whilst I slept but I woke up...I failed to uphold my promise to Mama..."

England's voice cracked harshly; creating a sound that the Scot wanted to shy away from. England had to swallow a huge lump in his throat and blink quickly to dispel any tears. He looked upwards and then back down to the floor and then back to Scotland.

"During our first visit to our lands, Rome took Cariad away in order to force him to mine for the gold in his earth...I was forced to remain with him since he had taken a fancy to Mother and I looked most like her. Also, most of the major Roman settlements like London, York and Bath are all on my lands. I cried so hard and I was so upset that I ended up falling ill. I fought against everyone that tried to hold me down; Cariad would thrash against all that held him. We would not stop screaming. My hand was torn from his and he was taken away in the night. I do not expect to ever forget that night or the pain I felt that was all the more potent because of Cariad's sorrow and fear...I do not suppose you know what it is like, losing half of your soul or the unending suffering that comes with it?"

Scotland didn't respond to the question. England chuckled, the sound deep and melancholic.

"I would not have thought so. But that was that and I never saw Cariad again for centuries. My loneliness hardened my heart and I forgot how to smile for a while. I could still feel every tear he ever shed and it soured Rome to me all the more even though he did so much for me..." **(23)**

England ran a hand through his hair.

"I _was_ able to enjoy the advantageous developments of the Roman Empire; the aqueducts and sanitation and such...the rather stable peace he brought was a God-send really. He built up my cities into majestic living spaces, introduced things such as apples and pears and I became a breadbasket due to a rather fantastic agricultural boom. He even gave me a home that had centralised heating, a toilet and a place to bathe. He gave me a strong, centralised government. He taught me different ways to build, to speak and to live. He urbanised my people, well significant number of them and many of them really embraced Roman culture and so I gained physical years. But it came at a personal price; namely my family. Nothing on this Earth is worth what you all mean to me. Other prices were the heavy taxes and in return for trade items, my people were sent as slaves. I do not mind, Scotland, that I traded things like metals, grains and even dogs. But my people being traded as beasts of burden angered me. Many luxuries were reserved for 'Romans', which I, clearly, am not. The roads were nice I must say and I cannot complain about the language...but other aspects I did not like..."

England turned to Scotland and smiled.

"To be enslaved and spat on and considered a barbarous, primitive nation and people until we were 'Romanised' ruined my esteem...To have the spirits of my warrior people broken and my women subjugated was a horrible feeling and the tattoos upon my body singled me out all the more. I sometimes missed you all so much that I would cry myself to sleep. Rome replaced my Gods with his own and then with Christianity, thoroughly confusing me for a while..."

England looked at Scotland earnestly.

"Thankfully he did not really have an interest in Ireland but he always had plans to invade and conquer you and no matter how much I begged him to leave you alone he would not listen. You may have forgotten, Scotland, but I loved _you_ more than anything that was not Cariad or Mother; I was willing to _bite_ the hand that fed me if only it would keep that very same hand from you. He ended up building Hadrian's Wall to separate you from Cariad and I...Ireland and Mann were long gone by then..." **(24)**

Scotland looked down sadly. He could remember how much he hated that Wall and how it separated him from the people he loved. He hated that Rome was trying to take away his freedom. He hated how it was that man who had given England a taste of what Imperialism could be like. He hated how England was so much like him. He hated how he wasn't all that sure whether or not he still had that love that England once gave him with such unquestioning devotion. His thoughts were disturbed by England chuckling.

"I _wish _you could have heard his rants about you. He would shout endlessly about how you were the absolute bane of his existence; a fire-headed, unnecessarily tattooed, axe-wielding, sword flailing Devil Child that made life all the more difficult for him. I would laugh with delight and amusement and express my deep pride that you were my brother. It always earned me a lashing but it was certainly worth it."

Scotland wasn't sure what to make of that. He was happy that England was proud but he didn't like that he was lashed for that pride.

"Rome often left me to both to Cleopatra and Helen, Ancient Egypt and Ancient Greece, who, despite having their own children, treated the rest of us Roman colonies with love and kindness. They were wonderful women, Brother, and I often find myself missing them terribly; missing their smiles, their warmth and their energy. I miss the stories they used to tell and the songs they used to sing but, alas, they passed away as well. Those were disheartening days..." **(25)**

Scotland had never seen such a sad look on England's face and he realised that he actually didn't really know this man_ at all_. This was the little boy he once protected with everything he had in him and he still loved him with every fibre of his being despite the bitterness but...he wasn't _his_ baby any more. He was grown up and just as haunted by life as all nations were. Scotland wanted to protect England from all the horrors of being a nation but he was confronted by the crushing reality that he had failed. England continued talking quietly.

"During all of this time, I had met Uncle Alaric, Germania. **(26)**Gilbert's little brother is the spitting image of him you know. He was always stern and cold but his eyes shined with kindness when with myself or Cariad or any of the children and women really. Now that I think about it, one of the only people he really hated with a passion was Rome. I also met Gilbert very briefly, I think he was still with Aestii at the time; I am not so sure. It did not matter though; the moment we saw each other we knew that, despite difficulties, we would be great friends in the future and, despite it all, he is..." **(27)**

A small smile graced the blonde's face.

"I had also met Francis properly. He was another 'wild horse that needed to be broken'. As much as he loves fancy clothing and such now, you know as well as I do that both him and his mother, Gaul, could have given our family a run for our money. I still do not know why, but he took on responsibility for my personal care, a care that lasted well into my Saxon, Viking and Norman occupation, and he _did_ raise me..." **(28)**

Scotland knew why France raised England. Though the European Power would rather die than let England know about his reasons, he did tell Scotland since they were best friends and lovers. In a moment of pure sincerity, France declared that he had no singular reason but there were no deceitful motives such as spreading his influence or creating ties of an economic or political nature. France declared that as soon as he saw England, despite the boy's cold nature, he saw a tiny child who was so desperate to be loved and to know that there _was_ _**someone **_close at hand that cared. He saw a little boy who was so desperate to be rid of the haunting loneliness that had plagued him so brutally. And, thus, he poignantly saw almost a mirror image of himself; a child without a family who was left to face the entire world all on his own. France told Scotland how a singular impulse to protect and love the boy had overwhelmed him so completely that almost no rational thinking into the consequences of his actions remained. He simply had to do what he could to help. France would tell Scotland about how difficult it was to get England to trust him but, when he did, he felt as though his personal life had been enriched when the boy began to smile and laugh and believe in his worth again.

"When I felt so terribly lonely, I went to Francis. When I was upset, I went to Francis. If I wanted to show someone something, I would show it first to Francis and even when I was hungry _I would go to Francis_. He took over your place in my life, Brother, and I am not ashamed to admit that whenever I was in Francis' arms, I felt at peace. I felt _loved_...and, in turn, no matter how cold I sometimes acted towards him..." **(29)**

England eyes softened with affection for someone other than their Mother, Wales, Mann, some of his humans or his familiars for the first time in what seemed like years to Scotland. England whispered.

"_I loved __**him**_...And I _still _do and I believe that I _always_ will...But do not tell him that, please..."

England could feel Scotland bristle suddenly at an almost vicious rate at this information. It was almost as vicious as Wales' temper earlier. The blonde smirked.

"Jealousy is _very _unbecoming, _Scotland_."

Scotland's eyes narrowed and his words were spat out caustically.

"Ah'm nae jealous, _England_...Ah have _nae_ reason tae be..."

England grinned.

"Lying is unbecoming as well; I can _taste_ the sourness of your energy...If it makes you feel happier, though Francis took your place in my life at that time, he _never_ took your place in my heart. And he never will. Though I had not seen your face in centuries, you were still one of my most blessed and cherished memories..."

Scotland didn't respond as he was too stunned but the warmth in his energy told England all he needed to know. England continued where he left off, eager to change the subject.

"I also met that bastard Spain whilst at Rome's house...Admittedly, he was a very endearing child. He was generally full of cheer and incredibly sweet. I am not all too sure what has happened but he's an incredibly serious man these days...Ah, now I remember what happened to him. Catholicism is what happened to him." **(30)**

Scotland could feel himself smiling lightly at the comment.

"I never really saw much of North Italy because Rome frequently took him on trips, leaving Romano behind. I never did understand that. Romano was Rome's first grandchild, the heir to his legacy but he completely shunned him and often felt him inferior. It is hardly surprising that the boy is as bitter as he is. I would play with him when I had the time and he is actually a very sweet, well-meaning nation. He is not as skilled as his brother in some respects, but even though he lacks physical years he is a tremendous cook, shame about his clumsiness though, and believe me he has one of the most angelic singing voices that could only be a gift from God himself. I once heard North Italy's voice and tasted his cooking and it pales in comparison. As much as he criticises his work, Romano is also a rather remarkable painter; I have some of his pieces in my own personal chambers..."

Scotland found it remarkable how wistful England sounded. As if simply retelling all these memories and feelings was bringing sadness to life.

"Rome was no stranger to slave labour and neither was I after he set me to work...I could not have been more than thirteen years old in human years...I did not have the strength for such work but I was made to do it anyway if I was rebellious...The same went for anyone who was personally rebellious. It was not a strange occurrence if my knees shattered from under me but I did the work without complaint...When I became a bit older, perhaps fifteen, he would also..."

Scotland didn't like the way England's sentence trailed off. He spoke firmly.

"What did he do, England?"

England's face reddened with shame and he refused to look at Scotland in the eye.

"It was not illegal for a Roman man to have sex with another man, as long as the other man was a slave and as long as the Roman was the dominant participant...Pederasty became rarer over the years but not extinct." **(31)**

Scotland face contorted with fury. How _dare _that man touch the blonde in that way?

"But did ye consent tae it, laddie?"

England's eyes went hard.

"I had as much choice in that matter as I did with regards to looking so much like Mother or even invading you, Cariad and Padraig...but I suppose I did in the end."

Scotland looked heartbroken as his fist clenched the sheets in an iron grip. England shrugged but still looked rather ashamed.

"I learnt that quiet resistance was a much better option than outright disregard...I learnt to accept the advantages brought about by Rome and bare any sufferings quietly...It also helped that nations like Romano and France helped me through it...Francis did all he could to protect me but he could not always do so. Thankfully Rome was much more interested in up keeping his Empire than in myself personally."

England scowled as Scotland made a note to self to thank France.

"He made me fight. Rome, I mean. He made me fight against both lions and gladiators in his Colosseum if I did not 'behave', all for the pleasure of his people, for _my_ people. Whilst I loathed this practice with a passion as I much preferred the theatres, my people loved it. The lions were often crazed with starvation but I always managed to win...I had to win because I would much rather kill beasts as magnificent as them than be torn to pieces. It was the gladiators my heart often broke for...How can you expect a mere human to fight against a nation and live? I could taste their desire for freedom and the weariness that would seep into their very bones. I put them out of their misery...lamenting the fact that they never had a chance in the first place..."

England looked deeply into Scotland's eyes and he could see the realisation of the sheer extent of his pain dawn upon them.

"It is one thing killing human soldiers on a battlefield, but it is an entirely different matter killing them in the name of sport...a sport that will never be fair or just..."

England held his gaze but then suddenly burst out laughing.

"Funnily enough, Scotland, it was the sword and archery skills you taught me in my youth that saw me through the fights! I would always try to desperately remember all that you had taught me and your encouragement...I suppose I should give you thanks for that at least..." **(32)**

Scotland blushed under the praise and thanks. As much as he liked to believe there was nothing but hate in his heart for the man in front of him, just knowing that something he taught him so long ago helped him made his heart soar with affection. He just couldn't shake the feeling off and that annoyed him to know end. His musing was interrupted by England finishing his recollections.

"Well, what does it matter now? I am here and this is more than I can say for Rome. He was a bastard but...but without him I certainly would not be who I am today...I may not even be here at all...Despite it all, he brought a stability and a standard of living that was more than could have ever hoped for...The centuries after his departure were _hard__._ As much as I disliked the Romans sometimes, I absolutely _loathed_ the Normans. The power struggle and the scramble for my lands after Rome had left resulted in me becoming younger again...At times I found myself missing the Romans...That is why I hate to talk about this...How can I hate someone who helped make me who I am? That gave me so much? I sometimes _miss_ him, Scotland...He was a _bastard_ but he was sometimes so _good_ to me and when we coupled I sometimes felt so fucking _special_...as if I was worth every ounce of wealth in the world and every minute of time he spent administrating my 'far away' country. But I never want to be ruled over again...I will never let it happen again and that is why I must fight Spain. I must fight him and win."** (33)**

Scotland realised that he had never seen anyone look so miserable in his entire life when he looked at England when he said those words. The wretchedness seemed to surround the blonde and it was almost tangible. It changed his energy, making it as heavy as lead and sucking any oxygen from the air around him. He was close to choking on England's sadness. His eyes widened when the blonde wiped his eyes of tears hurriedly.

"I envy you, you know? You, Cariad, Wales, Eleanor and everyone else on this archipelago of ours..."

That really surprised Scotland.

"Why dae ye envy us, laddie?"

England smiled sadly, the expression making him look vulnerable. It was possibly the most heartbreaking yet most breathtaking smile Scotland had ever seen.

"I can hardly call myself Celtic now...I may have gained over the years, but I feel as though I have lost absolutely everything...My language, my people, my religion and my family...Everything about me has been changed by those many centuries of invasion. Rome, the Anglo-Saxons, the Vikings and the Normans have left their mark so thoroughly that I sit here, Scotland, and truly question just who it is I am...The only Celtic part of me, really, is Cornwall...the rest is a mixture of Roman, French, Norwegian, Danish, Dutch and German and the original Celts...Damn it all to hell, even my name is not my own! I doubt I am actually related to any of you any more or, if I am, it is an incredibly weak relation..."** (34)**

England laughed with derision as a couple of tears escaped his eyes.

"I envy you all because you are all still a _family_. I am simply an outsider that you used to all know and that you now all hate. And you hate me all the more because I am forcing you all to stay by my side because I cannot _bear_ to be alone and unwanted again. Yet, the thing I hate the most is that none of you except Cariad and Eleanor believe that I never wanted to invade any of you in the first place; the original wish for expansion was not my own. I want you all to stay with me but not because of an invasion..."

Though the sadness and desolation was still present in England's watery eyes and energy, there was a steady rise in anger too.

"Both you and Ireland call me cruel and, perhaps, I have become so. But I am willing to bet _everything_ I own that you all have _never_ realised how terribly lonely I am or how desperately I want a family. Only Cariad truly knows and that is why he puts up with me. I cannot go through the suffering of losing any of you again. This debilitating and rather fanatical anxiety may not be enough justification for my actions but I am very sure that you can see why I did some of the things that I have done. Why I now try to force you all to stay."

England gesticulated wildly at Scotland as his voice became louder. His face contorted into a snarl.

"You do not even try to understand the mental impact my life has had on me and yet you think you can come here and _preach_ to me about tolerance? When no one, not even my own family, has had any tolerance for _me_? _How __**dare**__ you, Scotland?_"

Scotland looked at England with a mixture of guilt and pity. He figured that that was possibly why he hated Rome so much; he had truly started the Age of Change in England. He never realised, however, just how lonely the younger man was nor the extent of how damaged he was. He was indeed beginning to understand why England was the way he was and he lamented the fact that it took so much time and so much suffering to understand. He then realised that he had never asked. He found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat. His memory brought up an image of a teenage England and himself clashing swords amidst a bloody and brutal battle. It was a battle where his very independence was on the line. **(35)**

"Ah knoow Ah blamed ye fer my invasion but...but Ah think Ah may have been wrong tae do sae...But, think aboout it from mah point o' view. Mah own brother's people are oppressing mah people...What was Ah suppose tae believe when yoou had raised yoour blade against me in anger instead of trying tae prove mah suspicions wrong?"

England looked at Scotland with an expression he just couldn't seem to figure out but eventually the blonde sighed.

"I understand...but you must admit that you would _never_ have believed me either way."

Scotland realised he did have to admit to that one as he nodded in understanding. Both men smiled as progress seemed to be made.

"Ah knoow that it must be hard fer ye...but ye'll always have Cari, Ela, Francis and even me...Ah knoow Padraig is certainly in nae mood tae even see ye but...we all loove ye despite everythin' that has come tae pass...Yer still family; naething will ever change that. Ye dornt knoow how hard Ah tried tae get ye back from Rome...When he took ye away, it broke mah heart tae pieces...An' Ah'm sorry that Ah havenae tried tae understand but Ah do now...Our relationship might be in tatters but at least we can say that we understand..."

Memories of England's hand being in his own for a few seconds after years apart and then being snatched from his own and taken over Hadrian's Wall invaded his mind. Memories of being held back whilst little England was taken away from him made him see red briefly. He could feel the desolate misery sting just as sharply as when it actually happened; he hadn't seen Cariad, Eleanor and Padraig in years if not decades and he was going to be damned if he lost Arthur too; but he was damned in the end, the memory of a red faced child in the arms of a Roman crying out his name.

"But throughoout th' centuries where Ah never saw yoour face, not ah day went by where Ah didnae think uv ye...Sae it doesnae matter if yer nae what ye were; th' fact that yer hear shows ye that God has plans fer ye...that ye meant tae be here wi' us on our Islands and not wi' another..."

England's misery and the anger lifted slightly, his energy no longer dense like lead. It was gentle and seemed to caress Scotland. He wasn't sure if England even realised this.

"People like yourself, well, you are certainly impossible to hate entirely...Thank you..."

Scotland smiled demurely. He knew it would be so much easier if they could both hate each other but he also knew that that would be impossible; no matter how bitter their relationship, he knew it would cause so much more pain to let go.

"I can see myself becoming like him, you know?"

Scotland furrowed his brows in confusion at England's sudden interjection. England smiled.

"Both Spain and myself, as well as Portugal and others, are establishing Empires just like Rome...Maybe we will thrive or maybe we will fall but that is for God to decide...I wish for my people to help the Empire like he did, but I do not wish for them to be cruel...Yet I can already see that they will be and that worries me...Do you understand?"

Scotland frowned at the question. He couldn't say that he understood, he didn't have an Empire nor did he particularly wish for one. Yet he _did_ understand England's almost crippling fear of being a failure as a nation. Failure meant almost certain weakness or even death.

"Aye, Ah do understand...we may not see eye-tae-eye but we are th' same in that respect..."

England smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Well if we claim some sort of kinship, if only by Family Name, then we do have to have _some_ similarities between us..."

Scotland chuckled.

"Aye, I was wonderin' when we would find soome!"

England cocked his head to the side, his smile mysterious and alluring. Scotland almost jumped out of his skin with fright when the younger man approached him and cupped his face. The younger man just had a raging desire to touch the elder, to get him to make him forget the deep pain in his heart. He wanted to feel wanted by someone other than Wales and if this was the way to do then so be it.

"Well, the physical similarities are not so scarce...I do believe that we have some similarities with our personalities as well..."

His gentle hands, hands that were still much smaller than Scotland's own, began to caress his features starting with his hair.

"I must say that though the colour is vastly different, we have the same hair with regards to its texture and lack of curls...The messiness is also familiar."

Scotland wanted to bat away the offending hands but they were just so soothing...The curled round to his temples and brushed over his eye area. His eyes closed.

"We certainly have the same eyebrows and the same eyes...Eyes so terribly honest we find it very hard to hide our emotions...but we manage to somehow...We are not like Cari, Ela or Padraig whose emotions are often so blatantly painted upon their visages..."

Scotland's eyes fluttered slightly and he could feel dread seep into his veins. Both his and England's eyes _were _very honest and he knew that if were to open his eyes whilst under the blonde's ministrations, he would surely see the elder's desire for him. The hands stroked his cheeks, nose and jaw, the hairs of Scotland's neatly trimmed beard and moustache tickled the skin pleasantly.

"Our features are very sharp; well, much sharper than Cariad's or Padraig's..."

Those warm hands ghosted over his lips. He prayed to the Lord above that the blonde couldn't hear his heart thundering against his ribcage. He was already sure that he could feel the heat radiating off his face. Against his better judgement his lips parted under the gentle pressure of England's fingers. England grinned and cooed affectionate words at the older man before continuing.

"These lips are strange as both words so vulgar and words so sweet pass from them. A voice as loud as the thunder and a voice as quiet as the summer's breeze passes through them in equal measures...Much like my own..."

He ran his fingers along those parted lips, blushing heavily as Scotland's warm breath ghosted over them. He could also swear that a moist tongue ran itself over the pads of his fingertips. Though he was the one doing the seducing, a raging heat that burned only for the Scotsman; his enemy, his rival and his weakness, and that could only be quelled by the Scotsman; his friend, his brother and his strength, pooled in his heart and stomach, shocking him somewhat. His hands left the red-head's face to trail downwards to his broad shoulders and lastly toned pictorials above his heartbeat.

"I do not believe I will ever be blessed with your physique...I must say that it certainly rivals the marbled bodies of Gods that were carved by Heracles and his mother, Helen...But I do believe that my heart is just as strong and as passionate as yours..."

Scotland's breaths became shorter as England's hands seemed to burn his skin without inducing pain.

"It is not like you to lie about how you feel, however. Both Ireland and I are more likely to do that..."

Scotland dared to open his eyes and found that he was breathless. The fire in the room was reflecting off England's eyes, turning the venomous colour into liquid magic; the green colour swirled with red, yellow, orange and mercury. They shined with a mirth that not only masked a slight surprise but also an emotion that he would never have expected to be directed at him from England; a passionate longing that made desire rage through his veins. With a coy smile, England bent down so that he was face-to-face with the elder, his lips just mere millimetres away. The way he purred Scotland's name sent shivers down his spine.

"You desire me do you not, _Scotland_?"

Scotland tried to gain some control over the situation; now he remembered one of the biggest reasons as to why he almost hated the boy. Perhaps it wasn't entirely his fault but he didn't deal with his loneliness and insecurity in a healthy way. He would seduce and conquer and then throw away. He tried to clear his mind of the bewitching fog the boy had cursed him with. He placed his hand on England's shoulder to push him away. He said England's name with contempt despite the friendly atmosphere that had been achieved.

"Do not flatter yerself, _England_..."

England simply smirked, hardly intimidated. He moved to grab Scotland's hand and ran it down his own body; down the plains of his chest and ending at the curve of his hip. He rested his forehead against Scotland's and pecked the elder's nose tenderly. Scotland's mouth became dry as England moved closer to lick the shell of his ear. It left Scotland wondering how that very same tongue would feel going down other parts of his body.

"Do not lie...Your eyes are_ too_ honest...Your entire_ body _is _much _too honest..."

Scotland grabbed England and flung him on the bed, flipping their positions. He held England's arms, one in each hand, above his head. His lips curled upwards into a snarl.

"Yer a feckin' witch..."

England laughed mockingly as the sexual tension mounted.

"_I_ cannot be held accountable for _your_ longing! I could see it in your eyes when you first saw me earlier and I can taste its sweet musk in your energy! I can even _smell_ your desire to fuck me from a _mile_ away..."

Before Scotland could respond, England ground his hips upwards to rut against Scotland's athletically-built thigh causing a hiss to escape from the bearded-man's lips. The elder's cheeks were already flushed and his eyes were dilated. He was losing.

"And may I be so bold to say that I _do_ find myself flattered...as well as curious about your capabilities in bed since the last time we found ourselves in this position...They were _more_ than satisfactory then, what are they like now?"

Scotland's mind flickered back to when they were at war, when he had been fighting England because his King, Henry VIII wanted to marry his son Edward to his infant Princess, Mary. Such a time was known as _'The Rough Wooing'_ and with good reason; seduction became a dangerously rough game they were both more than willing to play. **(36)**

His mind also drifted to his fight for his independence from English invasion. He could remember the bitter feelings of betrayal that made him sick and the unrelenting anger that burned within him. He could remember England's vehemence that though he wanted Scotland by his side, he never wanted to invade; that he was _commanded_ to by his Ruler and thus was forced by a Nation's nature to submit. He could remember England's deep depression when he made it clear that he didn't believe him. He remembered how England's sadness had turned to anger and how he readily went to war against the elder in retribution.

He could remember England's nails scraping angry lines down his back as he took him roughly against a tree. He could remember the taste of England's skin as the younger rode him into the forest floor. He could remember the ecstasy and adrenaline pumping through his veins because he was having sex with the enemy; the ripe but forbidden fruit that made the passion and pleasure all the more delicious. Even then they couldn't resist each other. Even when they were at war with each other, they had an overpowering connection that made submitting to it worth the risk of getting caught. England raised his head to nuzzle his nose lovingly against Scotland's cheek. He seemed to be enamoured with Scotland's facial hair. The action surprised the elder man; when had his face gotten so close to England's?

"You cannot tell me that you honestly do not want me...That you do not lay awake at night _aching_ to nestle yourself between my eager thighs..."

Scotland could feel his resolve cracking when England nuzzled further against the hair of his jaw line. His resolve shattered when the younger pressed languid open-mouthed kisses to his cheeks and then the corner of his mouth, gently coaxing him into surrendering himself to his want. He slowly turned his head to meet those lips. He could feel something he could only describe as lightning shoot through his body when his eyes met England's for a split second and saw nothing but searing passion for _him_ and _only_ him. When his lip's met the younger's, he had to resist the embarrassing but excruciating urge to moan loudly. He had failed and England groaned as he swallowed the vibrations of Scotland's deep voice. The deep, smouldering connection, no, _bond_ he had with England would be the death of him; he knew that _nothing_ short of divine intervention would ever quell or equal the passion he felt for the younger.

The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. The younger man's lips were soft and warm as they moulded themselves against his. Shame ran through his veins; he couldn't resist the younger. Time and time again he would say to himself 'This is the last time,' only for the same thing to happen again and again. Last time they had come together it was a more or less mutual thing born of hatred; Scotland held all the cards. This time he had been thoroughly seduced. The passion he felt, however, overwhelmed the shame.

England pushed back against Scotland's grip on his arms and, as soon as the elder let go, his arms wrapped themselves around the red-head's neck, his fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck as they made out. Scotland manoeuvred his body so that it was indeed nestled between England's legs and his arms circled the boy's body until it was completely flush against his own; the delighted moan from the blonde told him that that was a good move. One of the younger's hands made its way down Scotland's spine where it stroked it lazily. The elder's moans were swallowed by the younger as his erogenous zone was abused. His hips thrust themselves forward blindly, coveting whatever friction was available as a voluptuous pleasure set his body ablaze. His left hand moved to stroke England's erogenous zone on his chest and he groaned loudly at the sound of the younger man's cries.

Heat began to pool within the stomachs of both men as their activities became more frenzied. England raised his legs up to wrap them around the bigger man, running them up and down his body restlessly. His hips ground upwards relentlessly and it started to drive Scotland mad. Scotland grunted as England's hand had wormed its way into his trousers, grabbing his length with a confidence that made him seethe with jealousy. Just how many people have had the pleasure of bedding the blonde besides himself, Wales and Rome? England smirked, knowing exactly what was going through Scotland's mind.

"I have slept with Cariad, Rome, Francis, Padraig, Eleanor, Gilbert, Matthias, Lukas, Spain, Lars, Maria, several humans and you. I will repeat my question, do _you_ desire me?" **(37)**

Scotland gritted his teeth for what seemed like the one-hundredth time that day. He was already showing weakness by submitting to his desire, he would be damned if he admitted his weakness out loud.

"It is only a simple three-letter word, Scotland, surely you do not wished to be left here in this state; to be left completely unsatisfied..."

"Scotland's eyes became hard.

"Ye wouldnae _dare_..."

England smirked but his eyes shone with a deadly seriousness. He didn't even need to speak; Scotland had his answer when England's hand left his trousers. He didn't want to be left in his state and he wouldn't stoop so low as to pursue someone in the castle. It was as dishonourable as it was crazy. Though the thought of going to Cariad ran through his mind, he dismissed it almost straight away. England would _surely_ have his head for it knowing how possessive he was of his twin (so possessive it was almost _insane_) and it would be an incredibly cruel thing to do to the Welshman. The thought of using him as a replacement for England was a sick one. He wouldn't be taking his feelings into consideration, just his appearance. His train of thought was broken when a calloused hand stroked his face. England's eyes were strangely sincere but Scotland wasn't sure whether or not the emotion was earnest.

"You profess love for me and yet you cannot admit your want of me. Just say one little word, Scotland, just one little word and I will be all yours until we part..."

Scotland frowned; this was the first of only two nights. Though both he and England were acting like common whores, he knew this was a case of dominance. The first time they had slept together, the first time he had seen England after Rome, dominance was never an issue. It simply happened due to their overwhelming happiness. The most memorable time they had slept together it was all about Scotland dominating the younger, showing that his invasion was in no way welcome nor would it go unpunished. It was also about England trying to salvage what was left of their tattered relationship; to prove that he loved the elder and that his heart was loyal to him no matter who his ruler was. 'The Rough Wooing' was all about lust and persuasion. This time it was a similar story but this time it was England asserting dominance over him. Even though it was Scotland hovering over him, even though he was the one with his legs spread, it was _England_ who held all the aces. Even his posture made it clear that everything was going to be done on _his _terms. Scotland took in a breath, the taste of bile rising in his throat as he realised something.

He _love__d_ the boy. That's why his heart felt like it was being ripped out of his chest at that moment. He felt as though he had signed his own death warrant; out of all the nations he could have fallen for, he picked England. He picked one of the most dysfunctional, dangerous and downright _complicated_ nations of the entire planet. He loved the boy so much he felt like it could kill him but he didn't want to be used; he didn't want to be a simple fix for a junkie. He didn't want to be a fix but he didn't want to let this...opportunity pass him by.

"Yoou will be mine until we part ways?"

England grinned but somehow the sincerity remained. Victory tasted sweet in his mouth and felt like drugs in his veins. He leaned forward and kissed Scotland, slipping his tongue into his mouth briefly only to end the action when Scotland tried to press forward, his tongue meeting the younger's for all of two seconds.

"_Yes!_ I will be yours if you say that you want me!"

Scotland's body was screaming _'yes'_ but England wanted, no, _needed_ to hear him say it. He needed to know that he was wanted. Scotland looked down at the man under him and shook his head in frustration. God he wanted him and it was plain as day to see! He was pressed so closely to England that he could feel every lithe muscle and every curve on his body and he was more than sure that England could feel _every_ bit of his body. He wanted to curse England's beauty but couldn't bring himself to do it. It really wasn't England's fault that he was just so easy on the eyes.

He realised then that, as pathetic as it sounded, he was willing to bring humiliation upon himself if he could just have England spread his legs for him like a woman. It was a _very_ strange sort of love really. A love he knew would never subside or weaken no matter how many centuries passed. He could feel a new need rise up inside of him; a need to punch himself very, _very_ hard. He wasn't masochistic so why did his heart torture him like this? Why did his heart cloud his mind so? He shouldn't have even been in that situation but he was and he knew that it wouldn't matter how many times England used him and threw him away; he would never love him any less. His husky voice that was roughened from pure lust sealed his fate.

"_Aye_...Ah _**want **_ye..."

Scotland supposed that his humiliation was worth the unadulterated delight that shone in England's eyes. England knew in his heart his was being as ruthlessly cruel as the elder perceived him to be; he could see how much Scotland wanted him and yet he made him say it out loud like a wench. He knew Scotland cared about him in a way he had only experienced very rarely and this was how he repaid him. He knew the humiliation it would cause but he didn't care; his need to know that he was wanted blocked out any notions of propriety. He _needed_ to get back at Scotland for daring to question his loyalty and his love; for making him feel like an outsider in his heart and for not understanding him. He was addicted to the feeling of power it brought.

He did have to admit that his blazing delight had barely anything to do with the power. He figured that his long centuries of occupation had truly damaged him, leaving a rather insecure person behind. The feeling, however, had far more to do with how happy he was that Scotland's eyes, ablaze with longing, were only looking at him and that he was willing to degrade himself just to have him. What both men didn't know is that they both felt a similar wave of sadness at the passing of the exact same questioning thought: 'Does he only want me for his bed?'

At the same moment they smashed their mouths together without poesy and Scotland had practically shoved his tongue inside England's warm and more than willing mouth. Scotland's thinking process had turned over to instinct; he actually had no fucking clue what he was doing. All his knew was that any clothes covering the areas below England's naval just had to go. On England's end he only cared that Scotland's trousers and undergarments were lowered to his knees; he didn't even care if they were off completely. Both men were so impatient that Scotland ended up tearing England's trousers and the ties of his tunic and England had ended up tearing Scotland tunic right in two.

After moments of desperate fumbling and preparation, England found himself on the receiving end of Scotland's rough thrusts. He moaned as the Scotsman's large hands grabbed the flesh of his lower back and thighs and as the red-head's body, ripped with muscles and decorated with old Celtic tattoos pinned his own smaller but similarly decorated body to the bed deliciously. He was completely surrounded by the older man and his senses were only focused on him. He ran his hands over Scotland's body from top to bottom and then vice-versa. They ran through the man's fiery, whisky tinted hair, over his neck, his broad shoulders, his mouth-watering biceps, his strong back, the curve of his pelvis and his thighs and back up again. The incessant action of those demanding hands had Scotland's brain short-circuiting. England all but shouted Scotland's name when a well aimed thrust made him see white and when a broad hand suddenly grabbed his shaft and began to pump.

"_Alba! Ah!_" **(38a)**

Scotland grunted in a mixture of rapture, effort and annoyance.

"Ah'm glad ye remember that name..._Sasana_...but...but mah name..._ngh_...use mah feckin' _name_!" **(38b)**

England looked confused.

"That..._nng_... makes no fucking sense! What else...can I call you...when we're like..._hah_...like this?"

Scotland smirked lopsidedly and England suddenly found it that much harder to keep from cumming.

"Mah _human_ name..._mmh_...Because damn it all Ah won't..._hah_...Ah willnae have ye screamin' mah nation name..."

Scotland lifted a hand to gently stroke England's cheek.

"Nae when yer sae bonnie like this..._Arthur_..."

England blushed but acquiesced; he had humiliated the elder man so the least he could do was fulfil his request. He cupped the elder's face and kissed him sweetly amidst their rough intercourse and then he called him by his most personal name, the name he had not called him by for centuries.

"_Alasdair.__.._"

Scotland blushed _heavily_; the colour spreading all the way to his chest. His smile was dopey and his eyes were glazed with affection. England's own name flowed like a mantra from Scotland's lips as the man bent his head to kiss England's ear and neck. It was as if that was the only word he had ever learnt. Scotland hadn't called him _'__Arthur'_ in centuries either but he was and it was the most beautiful sound to England.

"Arthur...Arthur..._Arthur_..."

It was with each other's names on their lips that they reached oblivion together. The sheets were in complete disarray and the men were even worse. Scotland used the little energy he had left to pull out of the younger and collapse on the bed next to him. Though there was still a blatant chemistry and an overwhelming passion between both men, the frenzied urgency had consumed them had been satisfied for the time-being. England grinned at him slyly, his chest heaving and his skin and hair sweat-soaked. Scotland found the way that England's pale skin had become alive with colour enchanting and the satisfied glint in his emerald-coloured eyes mesmerising.

"I do have to admit...that you are certainly a stallion amongst the sheets...That was..._wonderful_..."

Scotland smirked at the compliment. His already rose-tinged face grew hotter with a deeper shade at the complement; it was always a wonderful stroke to his ego to be told that he was a good lover, especially by the one person he wanted to impress and satisfy the most. He was equally as dishevelled as his lungs sucked in air greedily. England watched how the taut muscles in his chest and abdomen contracted and expanded and how sweat dripped down every alabaster crevice visible on his glorious body to his hungry eyes.

"Wael...yer a bit of ah...lion yerself..."

England chuckled, the sound light and fresh like a summer's day. Though there were still remnants of his biting shame, Scotland couldn't find it in his heart to regret what had come to pass. Any shame was certainly worth having sex with England. It was a very crude thought but the elder man hardly cared.

He was a bit shocked, however, when England began to get up to leave. He definitely cared about that! He didn't want to be thrown away so soon but someone he loved so much. He wanted to embrace England and show him that he didn't need to face the night alone. He, himself, didn't want to be alone after he had just had one of the most exquisite, albeit vexing, experiences of his, long, long life. Coupled with his new understanding of the younger man, the pleasure he had just experienced had been close to being almost excruciating with how breathtaking it was and he couldn't bare for it end with just one tryst; England had sworn to be _his_ until they parted and he was going to milk his reward. He pulled England back onto the space by his lap; the younger's back pressed intimately against his chest and the desire he had felt consume him previously raged back to life. England could practically taste the spike in arousal in Scotland's energy and it only served to turn him on once more. He raised his hand behind him to caress the elder's face and his nose nuzzled against it. Scotland closed his eyes and pecked England's cheek.

"And pray tell, _my Stallion_, what is it that you are doing?"

Scotland didn't speak but began to kiss the back of England's neck and his bare shoulder, the tunic having been damaged significantly by their previous antics. England's face flushed and his eyes closed at the gentle treatment.

"Your thoughts, _prithee_..."

Scotland's hand wandered over the contours of England's body, mapping out every dip and curve and jutting edge much like how the younger did previously. His hands found their way to the front of England's body, sliding into the dip between his thighs. England spread his legs subconsciously as Scotland dragged his hands backwards over his thigh. The blonde sighed in bliss as Scotland's baritone voice drifted pleasantly to his ears.

"Ye cannae leave me now, my _Albion_...nae when ye jist humiliated me and we are both _blatantly_ still unsatisfied...Ye claim that yer lonely but why leave me so soon if that's th' case? Bide wi' me...Let me show ye just _hoow _guid Ah can be...an' hoow guid Ah can make ye feel. Ye dornt need tae punish yerself by remainin' aloone..."

England frowned. He had been secretly hoping that the fire in his body would cool once he had satisfied both his needs and that of the Scot's. He found, however, that the fire and the insatiable need had simply _grown_. He _**loved **_Scotland; he knew that if he never revealed those feelings then he would never be remotely satisfied. This sudden notion of 'love' had hit him like a lightning bolt from God. It was so perfectly simple yet so overwhelmingly complex. He had always loved Scotland, _always_, but he was now close to trembling from the realisation of just how much he loved the older man and the nature of this love. This feeling scared him as much as it excited him; it felt as though his heart had simply grown in order to house such affection- especially since he was absolutely unwilling to give Wales up. He swore to himself, however, that as long as Scotland didn't admit anything other than platonic love coupled with fiery lust and hatred then neither would he. He would take his affection to the grave if that's what it would come down to. And yet, for the first time in his relationship with Scotland, he felt guilty for seducing him, for humiliating him. It genuinely wasn't fair on the other man and England could feel the emotion eat away at him. It seemed like the only thing he was capable of was hurting people. He tried to swallow a lump in his throat but it failed as tears brimmed in his eyes. His voice came out in a shaky whisper as the extent of his psychological distress seemed to crash upon him like a wave.

"I am sorry...I am so, so sorry..." **(39)**

Scotland's eyes widened in complete surprise; England did have a have an awful habit of surprising him at the strangest of times. Despite everything, he found that he couldn't be mad at England. He couldn't be mad when the boy was obviously torturing himself and probably had been for centuries. Scotland realised that the younger man was severely aggravating any problems he felt that he had by not seeking some sort of help. He knew that he was the only person on Earth to know the extent of England's feelings and that was wrong; Wales and Mann deserved to know. Wales only wanted to be there for England and the blonde was wrong to keep pushing his help away. A problem shared was a problem halved and he certainly wasn't going to always be around the blonde to ease his pain but Wales was. Scotland ran his large hand through England's haired as the boy tried, and somehow managed, to rein in his emotions.

"Hey noow, dornt be torturing yerself sae...Nae when somethin' beautiful has just happened. Ah'll admit, yoou've gone aboout this whole thing th' wrong way, but...but it's never too late tae make things right...Ah woods never gie up this new understandin' fer th' world..."

Scotland embraced the man tighter.

"But ye have tae promise me that you'll tell Cari and Ela what ye told me...And then when yer able tae, tell Padraig too..."

England could feel his blood run cold at the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable to the others. Though it paid off, he took a major risk with Scotland. He nodded anyway, feeling a determination to make amends grow inside him.

He tightly held Scotland's large hands in his own to help quell his turbulent emotions as the elder bent his head downwards to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The younger was absolutely enamoured with how the Scot's strong arms circled his body with a delicate power and the elder was simply enamoured with the way the younger fit in his arms. England could feel Scotland's heart thunder against his back and he was more than sure that his own was beginning to match the elder's for pace. England turned his torso completely in order to press tender, chaste kisses to the man's head, nose, hands and lips. Scotland returned the affection, leaning in to press his lips against the blonde's. The moment was strangely intimate and beautiful; Scotland wished that they could just lead simple lives as two people who loved each other, with no others and no complications of a political or social nature; just two souls in the bliss of Eden. When they parted, England smiled softly and he spoke in Gaelic, much to the elder's delight. His hair and his face were stroked gently before he was pressed back down onto the mattress for a second round.

"If that is what you desire, my dear _Caledonia_, then I shall stay with you and I shall, for once obey you. I shall stay with you until the morrow, when the dawn's light shines a blessing upon us both..."

* * *

><p>Scotland had left two days later in order to return to his beloved land and his King. There was still a high level of tension between the two men but some sort of understanding had been achieved. They were still light years away from resolving all of their issues, but just knowing that hatred wasn't the only emotion held mutually between them was a good enough start. It was a sad affair saying goodbye to the Scot, but it was done without excessive outbursts of emotion.<p>

Later that day, England picked fresh daffodils from the forest near to the Castle. He cut the bottom of the stems and tied them with a ribbon and also went to find something he had made a couple of days before but never had the opportunity to give. It was a handkerchief that was decorated with simple, but fine embroidery. There were roses and daffodils stitched on as well as a 'C' entwined with an 'A'. He went in search of someone who had avoided him like the Plague since Scotland stepped foot in the Castle. He found Wales by a window, one knee bent upwards and the other hanging off the ledge. Both of his arms rested on his lap and he looked pensive. He heard footsteps approach but when he saw who it was his eyes went frosty.

"What is it, Brawd?"

England gulped inaudibly and prayed to God that Wales would understand.

"Here..."

With a fierce blush and his eyes drawn to the ground he presented Wales with the daffodils and the handkerchief. He knew that he was degrading his behaviour to that of a love-struck maiden but he was willing to do almost anything to make Wales happy again. He knew it was his fault the dark-haired man was livid with him; no one likes their husband to have sex with others let alone have such deep, unrelenting feelings for them. It left Wales with a bitter taste in his mouth because there was _nothing_ he could do to change the situation but his eyes softened when he was presented with the gifts. He took them gingerly and let his hands rest on England's.

"What is the occasion?"

England spoke passionately from his heart and, even though he really, _really_ wanted to punch him in the face, Wales couldn't find it in his heart to be as angry with him as he once was.

"All the days that I have known you and that I continue to know you are special occasions... celebrations, even."

Wales' blush rivalled that of England's. England's eyes were wide and pleading.

"_You_ are my first love, the one whose smile has helped to keep me going all these years and the one I _cannot _be without. It is _your _ring that I wear primarily on my marriage finger and it is there that it will stay for as long as I live. When you are happy, so am I. When you are saddened, _so am I_. Never forget how precious you are to me or how much I _love_ you...Every time I say those words to you I never mean them any less than the previous utterance. In fact, I mean them _more_ each time...And it is about time I stop pushing you away...I will tell you my story and I will answer your questions as honestly as I can..."

Wales smiled and took the gifts in his hands. His face lit up as he touched the petals delicately and he held the handkerchief close to his heart. A warm feelings spread throughout his body and he felt much lighter, as if he could float. He sat down with England in the garden and simply listened as England poured his heart out for him. He listened and he comforted and he still loved. England wondered why he hadn't told Wales sooner. By the time their conversation was done, the sun was setting and the sky had exploded into colour. Wales smiled.

"_Thank you, fy Anwylyd_..." _(My Beloved...)_

England smiled back sincerely and knew that though he may not be forgiven just yet, at least he was understood; he could rejoice in the fact that he wasn't alone and that he was loved.

Now, if only Spain would understand him and just bugger off.

* * *

><p><strong>That's part one! I hope you liked it!~<strong>

**I'm gonna type up all the notes for this chapter tomorrow cos I'm so tired! If there are any burning questions however, please feel free to ask!**

**Notes:**

**(1): Elizabth's personality was often described as fiery and then in the later years of her reign tempestuous and bitter. Yeah, just like her father, Henry VIII, her mother, Anne Boleyn, and sister, Mary I, she had a wicked temper.  
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**(2): Elizabeth didn't marry for various reasons and this was highly unpopular as she couldn't produce an heir. This meant that the Tudor dynasty would end with her. She did, however, consider herself married to her Nation; married to England.  
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**(3) The British Isles is renowned for its metal production and there is, basically, gold in certain parts of Wales and the Romans were very eager to get it.  
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**(4) The Laws in Wales Acts 1535-1542 were passed under Elizabeth I's father, Henry VIII and they annexed Wales' legal system into England's with the intention of creating a single state with a single jurisdiction. This is often referred to as England and Wales. It did, however, come at the price of Welsh freedom and independence essentially.  
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**(5) Windsor Castle was one of the major residences of an English, and later British, monarch and was often used for diplomacy, as a home for the royal court and for entertainment. Look it up, it's gorgeous.  
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**(6a and 6b): _'Gloriana'_ and _'Virgin Queen'_ were nicknames for Elizabeth I.  
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**(7): It is believed that Elizabeth encouraged Sir Francis Drake's pirating of Spanish ships and wealth but I can't imagine Elizabeth allowing England to do it since he is suppose to be her 'husband' of sorts.  
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**(8): In my head canon I see England as being rather rebellious in this time period, something that continued all throughout history, and I cannot imaging him being any less rebellious or cheeky with some of his sovereigns, namely Elizabeth. I also see him as being very intolerant of the court and, upon occasion Parliament and, thus, they don't like him much either ;P  
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**(9): The Tower is a reference to the Tower of London = one of the world's most infamous dungeons.  
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**(10): Since Wales was annexed by England, I would definitely argue that though Wales would be given a title with respect to his being a nation, he would not be considered on equal terms to England.  
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**(11): This paragraph deals with the Battle of the Gravelines (or the Spanish Armada) and also with the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots (and, for a while, Queen of France). In 1569, the Rebellion of the North occured whereby Northern noble's basically tried to overthrow the Protestant Elizabeth and replace her with the Catholic Mary who was, through her Aunt Margaret (Queen of Scots and sister of Henry VIII), her cousin. Elizabeth, after a great deal of hesitation, had Mary executed in order to consolidate her position of Sovereign. The Spanish Armada was mobilised against England by Spain because of this incident and because Phillip II of Spain saw Elizabeth as corrupting England with Protestantism and he was absolutely fed up with English 'privateers' stealing Spanish wealth from its colonies in the New World. In my head canon, due to all the naval expeditions that happened Elizabeth, England wouldn't have know about the execution of Scotland's Queen cos he was out at sea nicking Spain's treasure.  
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**(12): During this time period, England was a bit of an underdog when it came to European powers.  
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**(13): Elizabeth I often took a hardline approach towards Ireland, often considering the Irish people as 'savage' or 'barbarous'.  
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**(14): Shakespeare had some of** **_the best_ chat up lines.  
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**(15) Elizabeth's mother, Anne Bolyne, was executed by her father, Henry VIII, her sister, Mary I, locked Elizabeth up in the Tower of London for around two years and Elizabeth executed her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots. What wonderful family relations..."  
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**(16); Scotland bowing to an English ruler? I think not!  
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**(17): Elizabeth I's grandfather, Henry VII, tried to end hostilities between England and Scotland. It was rather successful though tension were still high and to cement this, Henry married his eldest daughter, Margaret, to the King of Scots, James IV. Henry VIII, however, had other plans. He pissed Scotland off by invading France, and then Scotland marched into England. Both armies met and after the battle, the Battle of Flodden (1513), the core of Scottish nobility were dead including James IV. There were subsequent battles between Scotland and England thereafter.  
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**(18): Because Elizabeth had no heirs, the English crown passed on to the Scottish Stuart dynasty as they were the closest kin to the English Tudors.  
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**(19): Sir Francis Walsingham was Elizabeth's principal secretary and her spymaster (he was the one that managed to find out all about the Revolt of the Northern Earls in 1569) and William Cecil, or The Right Honourable Lord Burghley, was Elizabeth's chief advisor during the vast majority of her reign as well as her Lord High Treasurer (1572) and twice Secretary of State (1550–1553 and 1558–1572). They were incredibly loyal to Elizabeth even though they didn't always see eye-to-eye with her.  
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**(20): For a very long period of time, Welsh was considered an inferior language to English and English was legally the official language of all official documentation and business in Wales until the law was repealed not long ago. During the 20th and 21st centuries, efforts have been made to preserve the language as it was in severe decline and now the numbers of speakers are steadily increasing.  
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**(21): Hadrian's Wall was a Roman Wall built on the oders of Emperor Hadrian in order to create a boarder between Roman Britannia and Caledonia.  
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**(22): With Boudica, I basically explained most of her story in this chapter but look her up if you want to know more :) The same goes with the points about the Romans in Britannia i.e. their impact and influence.  
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**(23): With the lack of mobility and quick transportation during those days would have prevented England from seeing anyone for a very long time.  
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**(24): The Roman's tried to capture Caledonia but were unsuccessful.  
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**(25 and 26): My OCs Helen (Greek name meaning 'moon', 'torch' or 'corposant' (with 'corposant' being a reference to St Elmo's Fire) = Ancient Greece and Greece's mother and Cleopatra (Derived from Greek meaning 'glory of the father' and the name of many of the female rulers during Egypt's Ptolemaic dynasty) = Ancient Egypt and Egypt's mother. I see these two personifications as being very kind and fun but also very religious and fierce when required. In my headcanon they seem to be the motherly type.  
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** Alaric (Germanic name meaning 'noble ruler')= Germania. The Germanic people ruled over England after the Roman's, giving birth to the Anglo-Saxons, and were linked very closely to the Celts and, thus, England calls him uncle due both of these.  
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**(27): Gilbert's little brother here is a reference to the Holy Roman Empire which, at this time, was a European superpower. A part of what was Prussian land was home to the Aestii tribe. This tribe included land from other countries such as Lithuania and Estonia. In my headcanonnon, England and Prussia would have only seen each other briefly but they connected quickly.  
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**(28): Gaul was a Celtic people whose lands incorporated most of France, Luxembourg, Belgium, most of Switzerland, the western part of Northern Italy, as well as the parts of the Netherlands and Germany. They were conquered by the Romans during 58BCE and the following years under Julius Ceasar. The take over was brutal with thousands of Gallic people killed and enslaved.  
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**(29): Since France, Britannia (England and Wales), Spain (and the lands that would later become Portugal) and the Italys all lived in Rome's House, my headcannon dictates that England personally relied on France and to a lesser extent Romano since then. He would have also known Nations such as Spain and Veneciano since then too.  
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**(30): When it came to religion, Spain during the Tudor time period was pretty much the Top Guy behind the Papal States. The Spanish took religion rather seriously. **

**Also, I do not believe that the southern half of Italy is as inferior to the North as is made out to be. The Southerners are fantastic cooks, good painters with a rich culture of music and dance_ and _many of the best tenors from Italy are from the South. They have a lot to be proud of.  
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**(31): Pederasty was a homosexual (but not always sexual) relationship between a young man and a pubescent male and was practiced in the Roman Empire. Additionally, when England alludes to not always being consenting, he is referring to the fact that many Roman laws were not applicable to slaves and thus didn't protect them against rape.  
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**(32): I definitely see Scotland as the type of brother to teach skills like hunting and the art of weaponry.  
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**(33): After the departure of the Roman's England was in quite a state and was often repeatedly invaded. The Anglo-Saxons, Vikings and Normans all conquered England to some extent and they all left their mark. In my headcanon, such a scramble for lands and repeated invasions makes a Nation younger due to the instability.  
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**(34): The fact that England isn't really related to any of the others is a very important point. In my headcanon, I do not really see the Nations as being immediately related at all except in certain cases like Iceland and Norway, where Iceland's first settlers were Norwegians. Thus a nations 'blood' is their people and the true relation or link, is in the sharing of people or natural inhabitants, culture, history etc. Thus, 'Nation Families' are formed primarily on the basis of shared history, people, culture, language etc. Think of the Nations as the Greek Gods, sure they were related in some fashion but that hardly mattered in their mythological relationships.  
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**The only native Celtic people in England are the Cornish in comparison with the rest of the country that can find roots in the Anglo-Saxons, Normans, Vikings etc. Thus England is like an incredibly distance relative like, so distant its pretty much the exact same thing as not related at all which is why my OC Scottie, Wales and Ireland are attracted to him more easily. But England is still considered 'family' due to shared history and language etc.  
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**(35): Scotland is referring to the Scottish Wars of Independence (late 13th and early 14th centuries). In my headcanon, I don't think England would want to invade and conquer someone he loved so dearly. He would want them to stay with him but not because of invasion. Scotland's rejection of him, however, made him incredibly resentful even though he understood. On Scotland's end, he would have felt incredibly betrayed.  
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**(36) In order to increase English influence in Scotland and to stop hostilities, Henry VIII tried to marry his son Edward (later Edward VI) to Mary (later Queen of Scots). This offer was rejected by the Scots. Henry subsequently tried to use force to get the betrothal but was unsuccessful.  
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**(37): Padraig = The Irish form of Ireland's name Patrick (also where the nickname 'Paddy' is derived from).**

**Eleanor = The Ilse of Man**

**Matthias = Denmark  
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**Lukas = Norway  
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**Lars = The Netherlands (The Netherlands were vital to the English for trade and as a strategic point).  
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**Maria = Portugal (England and Portugal have the oldest alliance in the world!)  
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**(38a and b): Alba = Scots Gaelic for 'Scotland', Sasana = Sasanach = a Saxon, Often used by Celts to denote an Englishman (often offensive). Though the earliest use of the word is said to be 1771, I imagine the British Isle family used it long before :p  
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**(39) England has a few screws loose...  
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	14. History Two, Part Two: Victory

**HEY EVERYONE! I am so sorry for such a late update but exams and the responsibilities of life took centre stage! I'll be adding the notes on this chapter later but I really hope you like it!**

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><p>Wales looked over to his twin and couldn't help but shake his head with an odd expression of both amusement and concern. England was struggling to contain his excitement at being able to face his greatest enemy, Spain, where he felt most comfortable besides his House; on the sea. He had removed his coat and so Wales could clearly see how sweat and sea-spray made England's shirt cling to his well-defined body and how his earrings and rings glistened in the sunlight. England looked restless and eager, his fingers itching to wrap themselves around the Spaniard's throat. His rapier was tied securely to his waist and his pistol was strapped to his thigh just in case. His emerald eyes shone with an almost inhuman ferocity as they planned out strategies again and again. The smug smirk upon his face and the conceited way he held his body made his arrogance and almost brash confidence plain for all to see. He was also smoking a cigar with tobacco being something he had taken a great liking to after bringing it back from the New World.<p>

"Honestly, Arthur. Cease with your restlessness. You are making me nervous."

England laughed as he removed the cigar from his mouth, the sound as pleasant as the crashing of the waves against their ship.

"I simply cannot! I cannot wait for my chance to confront Spain!"

Wales giggled and brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His face became more serious although a gentle smile remained.

"It seems as if you are the only one with such brash confidence. Please, be careful out there today."

England returned the smile. The smoke from his cigar twisting upwards in aesthetic swirls.

"I must be confident. Besides your presence here today it is the only thing that will get me through this. I know as well as everyone that the odds against me are great but...but would you believe me if I were to say that I just have this...feeling that I have a fighting chance?"

Wales blushed as he pondered the idea and had to agree with England. Nations were no fortune tellers but they could sometimes feel in the pits of their stomachs whether there was a chance for victory or not.

"Do Scottie and Francis believe that you have a chance?"

England's expression soured slightly but he still answered. He threw his cigar overboard since he had finished it. As soon as the used cigar hit the water however, he was already desperate for another.

"The Frog believes that my defeat will teach me to stop being an_ '_arrogant heretic'._ Fuck him_."

England's expression then morphed into something incredibly _tender_.

"Alasdair on the other hand did send me a letter wishing us all the best for the campaign. I am sorry I could not show you but I had to destroy the letter as soon as I read it since our correspondence is rather secret...I have not had a good wish from him in centuries. It is strange but..._nice_ I suppose. I have wanted even just the smallest bit of the love I once basked in and now that it seems like a real possibility that I can enjoy even just a tiny part of it once more...well, let us just say that the burden upon my shoulders has lessened."

Though Wales' heart still dropped at the sweet affection that invaded England's voice and expression subconsciously whenever he thought or spoke of the fire-headed Scot (he had admitted to both himself and England that he wasn't ready to look passed the transgression despite England's apology), he was genuinely happy that they were both making an effort to simply get on. Complete forgiveness was unreachable at that point but it seemed as though reasoning wasn't too much to ask for any more.

For England, though he was still uncomfortable with the idea of loving the Scot since it would really complicate their already tempestuous relationship, it did not scare him as much as it did when the realisation first hit him. He supposed that it should have not come as such a shock since, when he thought about it, it was almost inevitable anyway. All throughout his life, besides Wales, Mann and his Mother, he had always held Scotland in the highest regard. As a child he had loved the elder from the moment he saw him and, throughout the years, the love had only increased. When he first saw Scotland after finally becoming a proper nation in 927AD, he felt the stirrings of a different kind of love that seemed much more potent that whatever he had felt before. He saw how the wild boy of his memories had become a man. A man that he _wanted_ and that he could never resist. Theirs was a bond that always had them coming back for more.

Much like Scotland before, England began to imagine just what it would be like if he could just love the elder with freedom and without consequences. It was a foolish idea but it _endeared_ him all the same. It endeared him to the point where he missed the Scotsman more than usual and it actually renewed his desire to prove to said man that the part of his heart he had so recklessly given to him without regret was _loyal_. That there was no ill-will or treachery to be found there. That it loved him so _completely_ that the constant rejection in the past had broken it apart. Despite this, England looked Wales straight in the eye, his expression even more passionate than when he was thinking about Scotland.

"Do not worry about me today. Just...just make sure that you return to my arms alive and well. That is all I care about..."

England suddenly ran a hand through his hair in frustration and worry.

"Why did I ever agree to you being here today? God, if anything were to happen to you...if Spain took you away or if you get injured...I would never be able to forgive myself! You are all I truly have in this world and I _cannot_-"

Wales cupped England's face with his hands to stop him rambling but the blonde's eyes remained wide and frenzied.

"_Hey, hey_, _hey! _Enough of that now..._Shhh_...It is alright...It is _alright_..."

Every ounce of the brash confidence that had previously ignited England's gaze had suddenly abandoned him leaving the worried, insecure and desperately_ lonely _person- no, _boy_ that Wales had, unfortunately, come to know. Wales tried to smile reassuringly but he couldn't keep the sadness from it, especially when England turned his face away from him in pure _shame_.

Wales knew instinctively that England only held an air of arrogance and unyielding to hide his belief that he was the scum of Mother Earth. Rome had called him so, Ireland had called him so, Scotland and his children had called him so, France had called him so, the Normans had called him so, the Papacy had called him so, Spain had called him so and so many humans had described both him and his people as so. As much as he tried to hide it, Wales knew that those words had cut deeper than _any _wound he had ever received had. They had been said repeatedly and with conviction _every, single_ time and thus England had internalised the disdain and he_ believed_ the words.

The blonde was getting _tired _of having to prove and defend himself personally time and time again. To have to vehemently defend the simple fact that, very often, the actions of Nations were _forced _by their rulers with one simple command and that the actions of the people were not necessarily in line with the views of their Nations. England was also very much considered an underdog when it came to European powers and he was beginning to become greatly disheartened and disillusioned. When was he going to receive his moment of glory? When would he been given the chance to do something that would have him remembered forever? He was pinning a lot of his hopes on the upcoming battles with Spain and he just couldn't afford to lose. Wales could see the frustration in his twin as he shook in front of him.

It was as if, instead of a person, his experiences had transformed him into a cornered animal with no other choice but to lash out. Yet instead of helping matters, it only disgraced him further in the eyes of others; a vicious cycle he couldn't ever hope to escape from because he knew no better. He only knew that it was either eat or be eaten; he had to become strong enough to step on others before they completely crushed him instead. To England, having a brutal distrust of everyone was the only way to survive.

The loneliness that had plagued England since Rome's appearance however, made this difficult isolationist idea impossible. As much as England professed that he did not want for anyone's love but Wales', Wales knew that this was simply not the case. He knew England wanted to be surrounded by a family that loved him, by children who would call him 'father' and kind faces that would not look upon him with scorn. He wanted the respect as a nation he felt he deserved. Yet the loneliness would never release him from its deathly grip and the thought that his twin was scared forever upset Wales deeply. The dark-haired man moved England's face round to look at him.

"Do _not_ turn your face from me..._Look_ at me..._Arthur_..."

England tentatively returned his gaze to meet his twin's once more. Wales smiled in approval and reassurance.

"You did the right thing by letting me join you today. Do not worry about me, I _know_ how to look after myself. You know as well as I do that we can get through this in the same way that we have overcome every single other hardship we have faced; by facing them _together_. It has been you and I since the day we were born and it will remain like that forever if you will have me..."

Wales looked around to make sure no one was looking but lamented at the fact that he couldn't kiss England without people seeing. He settled for laying a hand upon England's arm.

"Until death do us part, and even after that, I will always be by your side...I promised you that, remember? When I first confessed how I felt about you, I swore upon the heavens above that I would love you forever...No matter if the_ entire _world looks upon you with scorn_ I _will still stand faithfully by your side. _So do not worry_..."

England closed his eyes as Wales stroked his arm soothingly. He still couldn't get rid of the biting worry that settled in his heart and stomach. He truly didn't know what he would do if Wales wasn't by his side. He was so _unhealthily _dependent on the smaller man that the mere _thought_ of Wales leaving him or being forced to live at someone else's House or that his country's control of Wales would, God and Heaven forbid, kill him made him want to vomit. It was just like being addicted to drugs in order to relieve depression; he_ needed _Wales to function. His unhealthy addiction often reduced him to tears with how debilitating it was. He answered Wales' heartfelt speech in the only way he knew how; by being an obsessive arsehole.

"Do not be stupid. _Of course I worry._"

Wales looked slightly hurt but England's expression softened briefly.

"I do remember your confession though...I _remember_ as if it only happened _minutes _ago...You know that I will have you because I simply love you too much to _ever_ let you go. I have entrusted you with my soul, my heart and my mind because I trust you...I trust you _implicitly_ because you have stood by your word..."

England's gaze became sinister.

"But if you leave me, Cariad, that day will be the death of me...Leave me and I will _never_ forgive you and, if we were human, I would probably kill you. Therefore what you want is not worth the risk to your safety...It never has been and to me I believe it never will be...I worry because if I lose you, _I have nothing_..."

Even though Wales' eyes hardened slightly, his heart skipped nervously with fear. How and when did the man in front of him become so menacing and so obsessive? A shiver of dread went down his spine but he pushed all these thoughts to the side; he loved England no matter what and because he loved him he needed to make his feelings known; he needed to make some sort of stand.

"And what about my_ happiness_, hmm? Since that is typically in _conjunction_ with what I want."

England replied without missing a beat.

"Your happiness is my happiness _of course_. Yet I cannot even _imagine_ how you would be happy if I were to _suffer _because you so _willingly_ place yourself in harms way..."

Wales did not speak for a moment but then heaved a huge sigh. He spoke with slight frustration at England manipulative insinuations. His hand gripped England's sleeve.

"_Enough, Arthur._ You speak nonsense. You are willing to risk your life for me but_ why _will you not let me do the same? We are supposed to be _partners_..."

England smiled sadly.

"Because you are my primary purpose in life and, unlike you, I am not worth such a risk..."

Wales' expression immediately became crestfallen but before he could reply a voice called out to the blonde.

"My Lord! My Dearest Lord Kirkland!"

England turned round quickly and found himself_ delighted _to meet the man that would help lead him to victory; Francis Drake.

"Ah, Drake! What news of Spain?"

The young human man spoke gently but with a sense of urgency, his curly brown hair thick upon his head and his eyes alight with a more subdued version of England's previously astounding confidence. He bowed lowly and raised himself with a grin on his face; completely at ease in his Nation's presence.

"The Spaniards are on the move and thus we shall be ready to meet them very, very soon, my Lord. Her Majesty the Queen has requested to make a speech, after which she has requested that you deliver you own to the sea men alongside myself, my dearest Nation."

England smirked, his sharp canines glinting in a feral manner.

"_Excellent_. Call me when I have to prepare. You may be dismissed in the assurance that your Nation is both confident and delighted, especially with your efforts."

Drake smiled and bowed lowly once more, awe and admiration present in his gaze.

"Thank you, _Your Grace_."

He took his leave to gather the sailors and prepare them for a speech. England turned to face Wales once more.

"Cariad we must-"

England stopped speaking as soon as he saw the furious expression on the usually laid-back Welshman's face. He knew it was best to wait until Wales vented out his anger in his own time. The shorter man took some deep, calming breaths but his words were spat out with venom.

"Do not...Do not _dare _say that your life is worth less than mine..."

Wales pulled England down to his eye level by his collar, the rough movement startling the blonde.

"What did I _just _say to you? You are not an _imbecile_, Arthur, so why do you_ insist_ on coddling me and leaving yourself out for the wolves? We are suppose to be _partners_! Does that word not mean _anything_ to you?"

England heaved a sigh, his eyes dark with sadness.

"I made a promise to Mother to protect you. I have already failed numerous times and you know how much that _tortures_ me..."

England raised his hand to cup Wales' cheek and to stroke his hair.

"You know as well as I do that Wales' place was not with England originally but as an independent principality. There is, therefore, _every_ chance that you may leave me in the future or someone else may take you away as much as I do not want that to happen! I want to show you, as much as possible, that I can look after you because I do not want to give you a reason for you to ever stop loving me..."

Wales' raised his voice until he was struggling to keep it at a whisper.

"When will you realise that you will _never _fucking lose me? That I will _never _stop loving you? It should be me worrying about that since I am the eldest of us both! The place of Wales and England is_ irrelevant _in this matter! The place of Cariad Kirkland is at the side of Arthur Kirkland and that is how it shall remain if only you will let me aid you!"

England raised his voice in anger but not enough to bring attention to himself and Wales.

"I will do _whatever _I have to do to keep you safe, the risks to me are_ inconsequential_! I have a right mind to lock you in the Castle_ forever_ if that is what it takes!"

England had to bite his tongue lest he said more that he would later regret. Wales snapped back.

"You would not _**dare**_! My people have already lost their freedom and I will be damned to hell if I lose the last of my personal freedom to_ you_! You insinuate that I do not care for your happiness since I so _'willingly' _put myself in harms way, yet it is_ you_ who is inconsiderate to _me_!"

England had never seen such a fire in Wales' eyes. Not since his was fighting for his independence when his people wanted to take it away. Wales' voice cracked with strain as he laid his heart bare for England.

"You must not love me as much as you say you do because I give you _all_ that I am and yet you still have the_ audacity_ look for more in the arms of others even when I am _right_ in front of you! Francis I can accept, Ela was a one night affair and countries such as Denmark, Norway, Portugal and Prussia I can perhaps overlook. Rome is dead and Padraig shares the same sentiments as myself believe it or not so there is nothing I can do there."

England's eyebrow was raised in disbelief. _Ireland?_ In _love _with _**him**_ and upset that he couldn't be more monogamous? Wales had finally gone insane it seemed because England was _more_ than sure that the Ireland he knew would rather hack himself to pieces with a blunt hand-held axe than have any feelings for him.

Although, now that Wales mentioned it, England did notice a heaviness in Ireland's gaze and a slight blush upon his cheeks whenever they met or if they found themselves in bed together (though any reactions became much more prominent then), but he always thought it was the hatred that brought about those reactions. Now he wasn't so sure and that both excited him and concerned him. Exciting because he could exploit it, concerning because he wasn't all too sure of the extent of his own feelings towards Ireland. He was attractive, yes, _incredibly_ so with his pale, freckled skin, flushed cheeks, strawberry-blonde curls, fiery personality and bright emerald eyes but he never really thought to bring deep emotions into the equation as it would only complicate a relationship that was already complicated. Wales' face contorted into a snarl and England could see his fiery Celtic spirit ignite into a blazing inferno of life.

"_If you do not believe me then ask him yourself! _You will see his feelings painted _blatantly _upon his face. He loves you _passionately_, Arthur, and is utterly_ smitten_ with you but why would you ever notice when you have fucking _Alasdair_?!"

Wales spat out Scotland's name as if it disgusted him. He thought he could get over the Scot's amorous intentions but he just couldn't because the Scot was quite possibly the only nation _alive_ that England would never, ever say 'no' to besides himself. The Scot was the only nation alive that could take England away from him, that could potentially take precedence over him. Wales had practically lost _everything_ upon his Union with England but he didn't want to lose the one thing he could say he did have with confidence; England himself. Jealousy was indeed a very powerful emotion that was naturally augmented in Nations as a survival mechanism because, after all, a scorned Nation is always a more driven Nation.

"_Alasdair_? I find that I _cannot _let that matter lie. How am I to compete when the chemistry between you both is so fucking _palpable_. When you both _cannot_ be in the same room without wanting to tear each others' clothes off! You are a _bastard_ for pursuing him when I was in the Castle! You did not even have the _decency_ to give me the respect I _deserve_ and at the very least send me away so I would not have to find myself as a forgotten toy, thrown away when something better comes along!"

England could feel himself begin to lose his temper and that was the most dangerous thing to lose control of.

"And your constant degradation of your worth is _heartbreaking_! And yet you simply expect me to just simply_ except_ all of this!? Do not think me submissive because I am peaceful in nature, I think that I am _well _within my rights to fight in any battle I see fit at the very least!"

England's eyes darkened as he brutally pulled Wales' to his own personal cabin by the wrist. Wales struggled all the way. When they got to England's cabin, the blonde slammed Wales harshly into the door and he pinned the man's hands above his head. As he loomed over the dark-haired man, he was glad that no one would barge in to his quarters due to sheer fear. Wales glared back defiantly but he was still fearful despite knowing full well that England would do nothing to him. England's breathing was heavy and laboured due to anger. He carried on looking at the floor for fear that his infamous temper would get the better of him.

"_There is no need for you to fucking compete!_ I will _not_ tolerate some of the things that you have just said. Frankly, I am sick and tired of Alasdair, his children, Padraig, Francis and yourself blaming me for absolutely_ everything _that has ever gone wrong between us all..._I am sick and tired of it_..."

England tried to calm himself down but he found that it was a very hard thing to do as he started shaking with the extent of his fury.

"I am not sure how many times I have to apologise for your heartbreak but I have _never_ said that I would be faithful to you, as cruel as that may sound. I have_ always_ asked that you do not promise me that either because you are well within your rights to love another as well as me even though the idea is_ thoroughly _unappealing to me. You are _not _a toy and _again_, you are right I should have sent you away but where would I have found the time?"

England raised his eyes to glare at Wales, the fury in them causing the smaller man to flinch. The normally bright, emerald-coloured eyes were dark and cold. England unconsciously loomed over Wales even more than he was, making him look even more threatening. Wales knew that if this dangerous fury were to go unchecked then there would be no limits to what England could do in the course of his long life.

"I _did _promise, however, to always hold you first in consideration and to love you forever or did you forget this? Now, this..._relationship _that we have is something we have both always done and that works for me...but does it work for_ you_?"

England shook his head and Wales became speechless.

"We discussed my...extramarital relationships at length beforehand and you said that you could handle them just as long as I was honest with you. I also said that you must pay me the same courtesy. I have _given_ you that freedom because I know that neither of us are to blame that your nature is much more...monogamous than mine shall we say, due to my political standing ..."

England suddenly found himself resting his forehead against the other's.

"But you are right, I _am_ inconsiderate to you. You are also right to be angry that you are not my only lover no matter what 'agreement' we have come to...I _know _that I have no right to lock you away but do you understand how_ hard_ this is for me? You are the_ only_ thing that keeps me from going absolutely _insane_...that keeps me_ functioning_..."

England planted a gentle kiss upon Wales' forehead, his grip upon his wrist tightening. He took a deep breath and spoke earnestly as he placed his forehead back in its original position.

"You are _all_ I have left_..._In my heart there has _always_ been you...the majority of it I give entirely to you! No matter who I have lain with you...you always undo me so _utterly_..."

Wales' eyes softened at the trauma his love was going through. He _knew_ how difficult it was for England to even agree to let him get on the ship let alone actually letting him participate in the upcoming battle. He knew how England suffered under the weight of perceived failure but he was only 'human' as it were. He still became frustrated when England constantly coddled him. He wanted to know, more than ever, that England loved him no matter who came into his life. England let go of his wrists and placed his hands on Wales' hips when Wales pushed back on his grip and placed a gentle hand on his sharp cheek. Wales lowered his voice to a gentle murmur.

"Do you place so little faith in me that you do not believe in my capabilities and my loyalty? That I blame you for your people's actions? And I am sorry, jealousy is unbecoming...but..."

When Wales failed to continue, England brushed his lips and then his nose against Wales' to try and coax him to finish.

"But what, _my_ _beautiful_ _Dove_..."

The pitch of Wales' voice rose into a soft mewl at the sound of the endearing nickname.

"_I just cannot help it_..._"_

Wales reached upwards with his other hand to pull England's face to his. He kissed England sweetly and hoped that the other man could feel his love for him. It did indeed leave the blonde feeling dizzy with the sheer amount of affection and desperation within that one kiss. When Wales pulled back, he left one elegant hand upon the blonde's cheeks and lowered the other to trace said blonde's lips.

"How can I not be jealous when all I ever think about is you..."

One of the younger man's hands came up to stroke Wales' cheek gently. The dark-haired man's cheeks tinged to a lovely shade of cerise and his breath left his lungs at the intensity of England's gaze.

If only England would look at _only _him with such passion...

England pressed forward to place short pecks upon Wales' fingertips and then his lips, throat and ears. He was a drug addict yes, but that didn't mean that it was a bad thing entirely. He pressed Wales back further against the door and slid his thigh in between the slightly older man's legs. Wales, for once, tried to avoid England's lips so that he could get his point across but it was very hard for him.

"How can...I prevent such...jealousy when...when _hah_...you drive me so..._wild_ with want? How many...times do I..._mmh_...do I have...to...say that..._aah_...I love you...for you to _believe _me!"

England dragged Wales' face closer to his by his chin and whispered against his lips as he glared at him. By this point Wales was at breaking point with both desire and emotion.

"_Do not reject me..._"

England briefly brushed his lips against Wales' in an almost punishing manner. Wales narrowed his eyes.

"Then say that you love me and that you believe that I love you too because I _cannot_ go on like this..._Prove it to me_."

England kissed Wales hard but parted after several seconds.

"I _believe _you..._And I love you_...Na ddal eiddigedd...nid pan Rwyf wrth fy modd i chi yn fwy na neb ar y blaned hon..." _(__Bear no jealousy...not when I love you more than anyone on this planet)_

Wales' arms wrapped themselves around the blonde's neck and England hoisted him up against the door by the older man's thighs; the lithe legs immediately circling the blonde to bring him closer. He ran his hands through the blonde tresses, a habit that England had actually picked up from him, and he pressed forward to kiss England deeply, secretly thanking God that they had the privacy to do so. England's tongue slipped into his mouth and, if they didn't have a battle to go to, they may have ended up taking things further. Wales didn't care though; he was just happy that he could finally put his anxiety to rest somewhat. England loved him, it was clear to see, and he didn't want to ever feel such a horrible doubt gnaw at him ever again. He still worried about England's relationship with others and how it would affect their own relationship, but he didn't doubt that the blonde loved him any less. Eventually England just stood there and embraced the other man tightly, willing the feelings of guilt, anxiety and desolation to leave him in peace.

"I have loved you since moment I laid eyes on you...You smiled and I think...I think that that was the second best moment of my life..."

Wales, glad that both his and England's anger had more or less dissolved, embraced England just as tightly.

"I remember that...You just stared at me with wide eyes full of awe because you did not expect that someone would be waiting for you..."

Wales looked downwards modestly and shyly but England noticed the sudden dispirit in his energy. It was hard not to notice; not when his energy was euphoric with relief only a couple of seconds before.

"May I...may I ask what the best moment of your life was?"

England didn't say or do anything for a while but then he shook his head with a slight smirk on his face. He realised that the older man was worried that he would constantly be second best to others and to Scotland especially. How far from the truth that was! He _loved _Scotland, yes; but the man would_ never _be Wales. He lowered Wales to the ground and gave him one last, lingering kiss on the lips. A tender grin was etched across his face.

"_No_...I looked at you in awe not only from surprise that you were there at all...but also because you were so _beautiful_...And when you first said that you loved me romantically...and then we made love under the stars...That was the best moment of my life because I knew then that you were mine _forever_**.**.."

England's grin became sinister as Wales' face lit up like a blacksmith's furnace.

"Now, cool your fair face so that we do not arouse any more suspicion than we already have and let us show our Spanish 'friend' exactly why he should be fearful of us..."

* * *

><p>"The Spaniards seem to believe that they can simply encroach upon our land and that we will either welcome them or submit to them...They think us so weak that we will put up no resistance!"<p>

Hundred of anxious but prideful eyes were looking towards England as he spoke to them passionately; getting them into the right frame of mind to fight.

"But are we weak gentlemen!?"

The entire crew bellowed a powerful 'NAY CAPTAIN!' and the sound made England's heart swell. He continued with an air of authority and power that had everyone staring in awe. It made Wales happy because it had been a while since he had seen his twin display such passionate self-belief.

"Then _prove_ to me to me that you are strong! Prove it to your Queen, your Country and each other! Show Spain what happens when you make an enemy of the English! Show him that neither his King nor his religious rule are welcome here!"

The entire crew cheered and whooped with confidence in their leader's words.

"There will be_ no_ mercy! There will be_ no _compromise! There will be _no_ defeat! Prove to the whole of Europe that England shall be underdog_ no_ longer! Show them the Lionhearted strength burning in your hearts! Show them and let it consume them! _Burn them when the time comes_!"

England let his gaze sweep across his crew. They were filthy, they were coarse, crude and certainly not perfect; but they were England's and he felt an acute joy to be fighting by their sides. He did not care if others thought that his people were the scum of the Earth; they were _his _people.

"Your Nation is _counting _on you...And with God on our side, Gentlemen, Victory will _surely _take your hand and lead you to her warm embrace! Let _this _be a Victory the world will laud _forever_! Let the world know that _this_ was the battle where England stared adversity_ straight _in the eyes and _won_!Where she took on the _'mighty'_ Spanish Armada and sent it back to their ports in s_hame _like the_ dogs_ they are! We have not been invaded since the Normans and we will _not_ be the one's to let _our_ proud and beloved Britannia be forced to _kneel _at the foot of a filthy aggressor! I will be here fighting by your sides; risking my life as you are. Now, _**WHO WILL FIGHT WITH ME!?**_"

The men aboard the ships cheered and England couldn't help but yell back.

"Then what are you all waiting for? Onward to Victory men! Long live the Queen and may God's winds blow in our favour!"

With that, the now impassioned men began to scurry about. England suddenly felt a gentle hand upon his shoulder. When he turned around he was met by the gentle, proud gaze of his twin.

"I saw what you did there, mentioning our 'Mother'. I know she will be with you in the battle."

England smiled.

"She will be with you too, you know..."

Wales laughed.

"That she will but-"

"LORD KIRKLAND, LORD DRAKE! THE SPANIARDS ARE FAST APPROACHING!"

As soon as the crew member shouted those words, Wales could see a sinisterly gleeful fire burn behind his twin's eyes. If he hadn't seen the sight before, he would have been very disturbed. Nowadays, he barely batted an eyelid at the sadism in his brother's gaze. England turned his gaze to Wales, a large smirk plastered on his features.

"I cannot wait to see him, Cariad."

Wales raised an eyebrow.

"Who?"

England's grin became wider if possible.

"Spain. My rapier, dagger and guns against his axe and whatever else he has; I wonder who will victorious..."

Wales hoped to God that England would be victorious. Though he had a gun, it was a bastard to reload and a rapier was very small compared to Spain's battle axe never mind a dagger. Spain was also very clever in battle, his instincts often joining with his intelligence and his brutal strength to form a very formidable combination. Wales hoped that England would be able to use the weight of Spain's axe against him however. Speed, wit and agility were, therefore, England's greatest allies in this battle. Wales somehow found himself praying for Spain. Should the Mediterranean Power lose against England...Wales shivered when thoughts of what England would do to Spain crossed his mind.

"I do hope that you will win, my Brother, but remember, we must avoid boarding the ships in this battle. 'Tis how Spain usually wins."

England grinned.

"I know. But that will not stop me from boarding his ship and taking him back to England with me. Back to my Tower where he belongs..."

Wales shivered slightly, his prayers for Spain becoming somewhat stronger. The battle progressed steadily from there. England sent out fire ships against the Spaniards and watched in pure ecstasy when the winds blew in his favour and he saw some of Spain's ships burn in front of him. All around him he could hear the terrifying sounds of cannon fire, gun and musket fire, swears, curses and screams; it was absolutely thrilling to him. He ran up and climbed up the mast as high as he could go in order to survey things from a higher angle. He looked down to make sure that Wales and Drake were alright and, when he saw that they were, he shouted out to them.

"LOOK! Spain's ship seeks battle! _Go to it!_"

When Drake and Wales looked towards the sea, amidst all the flags, the sails and the vessels, they watched as a great, hulking galleon surged forward on what England would later call a 'Catholic Wind.' They saw two flags raised high above the ship; the Spanish Naval Flag and the King of Spain's Coat of Arms. Drake couldn't yet see the Nation or Spain himself, but he knew that he would soon and when he did, it wasn't going to be a pleasant meeting. Wales and England on the other hand, could feel Spain; they could feel his energy and the power that came with it. They could feel how it burned their skin. England's aura spiked in retaliation and defiance, dimming the sting of Spain's aura somewhat. Drake turned round in shock and shook his head in defiance .

"We cannot, my Grace! We _cannot_ let the Spaniards board our ship!"

England shouted back angrily.

"I will not be made to cower away when Spain so _arrogantly_ seeks battle! Why will you not go to him? Do you find me weak, Sir, or do you doubt me?"

Wales shouted back, concern saturating his tone and gaze.

"Please, Arthur, do not make Sir Francis commit such an act. You could be taken away!"

England looked truly frightening as a blazing anger overcame him.

"_DAMMIT ALL! _Either one of you steer this ship towards Spain before I do or I will jump overboard and swim to him! _Do as I fucking command for once!_"

Drake looked pleadingly as sea water splashed around him.

"PLEASE MY LORD! DO NOT-"

England cut him off viciously.

"_ENOUGH!_ I have waited_ years_ for this! Do not _dare _take this away from me! Do not take this opportunity away from your Nation!"

Against the sound advise of two people who were close to him, England was able to get his wish through sheer determination and bull-headedness. The English Master Ship set sail to meet Spain's upon the rocky ocean. Some of the other English ships became confused but Drake managed to send a message to surrounding ships to not pursue the Master Ship. The poor human was highly wary of the bollocking he was going to receive from so many people after everything was said and done if he survived. The Queen herself included.

Oh, the things he did for the happiness of his Nation.

With each metre of sea crossed, the tension on England's ship became greater and greater. Spain's ship was truly massive, the sheer size of the galleon was intimidating at its worse and fear inducing at its best. Wales continued to fire shots but he could feel worry gnaw at him. He was so worried and yet England seemed as though he hadn't a care in the whole bloody world. The canon fire got louder and louder and louder but it stopped for a while in order for the Captains of the ships to lay down their terms. The Spanish galleon sailed so close that the distinctive Spanish husk of the enemy could be distinctly heard. A particular voice could be heard above all others.

"_**INGLATERRA!**_"_ (ENGLAND!)_

England's eyes became sinister as they landed on an equally as green pair. The blonde grabbed a rope and leaned over his ship's side arrogantly. Spain was doing the same, his jewelled crucifix glinting in the light of the day and of the fire. His curly hair was longer than England remembered it but his skin was just as dark and rich as before.

_'Such a splendid face and form...'_ England thought. _'How wonderful it will be to ruin them both with injury and hunger...' _

England responded to the other man's call mockingly with an exaggerated bow.

"_España!~ _How _wonderful _to see you!"

Spain was not at all impressed with the younger nation's lack of respect.

"Are you ready to renounce your heretical beliefs and to follow me?"

England scoffed loudly as he manoeuvred his body in order to dodge a bullet.

"Surely, Sir, if one is to denounce any heresy they should not be forced. And follow _you_?"

There was a strange, hopeful look in Spain's eye. It was as if he truly feared that England would be damned should he not let Spain 'help' him and bring him back on to the supposed 'right path'.

"Yes, _Inglaterra_. _Follow me_; do not let your soul be damned! Let me_ help_ you; my King and the Pope are in their right minds to launch a Crusade against you! Stop this before you find yourself a slave again!"

England looked truly disgusted and his eyes shone fiercely with offence, especially when Spain mentioned slavery.

"I would rather _die_ than follow you...I will follow my own path and I will be a slave to no one!"

Spain's expression was grim.

"So be it...It is such a shame; you used to be such a beautiful, pious creature..."

England shot back a retort as the Master-Ships got closer to one another; so close that England was coiled up, ready to jump. For once, England showed genuine sadness for the Spaniard in his eyes, something that didn't go unnoticed.

"And you used to be someone I could admire...Someone whose cheer, no matter what life through his way, would shine brighter than the sun itself! You were a such_ happy_ nation, Spain, and now look at you..._This is not the Spain I grew up with under Rome!_"

Spain gritted his teeth- England's concern had struck a nerve. It somehow reminded him of his precious Romano. Romano who, despite his coldness, only ever wished to see Spain truly happy. When Spain saw Wales aboard England's Mater ship however, Spain became furious.

"_Why is he here?_ Why are you are dragging your _spouse_ into this? _ANSWER ME!_"

Some of the strongest members of his crew were lined up with England, all ready to strike when their Nation gave the word. Wales, too, let adrenaline take him over completely as he moved to stand by his twin's side. Member's of Spain's crew did the same as the tanned nation looked at Wales with pity. England glare was as acidic as his eye colour.

"Do not lecture me, Sir, on who chooses to fight with me when you have _children_ at home waiting for you! _You have Roma at home waiting for you!_"

Spain flinched and then glared at the mention of Southern Italy. England carried on regardless.

"Che, you are nothing more than a fool now that you cross me!"

As the final words left England's lips, he shouted out. It was a sound that was so powerfully savage that all who heard it shivered.

As soon as the shout was heard, all hell broke loose.

England and his men jumped over to Spain's boat as Spain's men jumped onto England's. From then on, time seemed to be a flurry of chaos and weaponry and shouts of pain and anger.

England and Drake managed to land in Spain's boat but Wales couldn't jump as a Spaniard jumped and attacked him. England cut through the barrage of enemies effortlessly; no human is a match for a Nation. He stormed towards Spain who had his axe raised; waiting to strike. England cried out and made the first move, slicing the air with his rapier. Spain narrowly dodged the attack and brought his axe down. The sound of the mighty weapon colliding with the deck was ground shaking. England managed to jump out of the way but new he couldn't afford to risk another close encounter with that fearsome weapon. He pulled out a pistol and shot. Spain was quick, raising the heavy axe effortlessly he held it horizontally, letting the metal deflect the bullet. Spain grinned.

"Face it, _Inglaterra_; you are out of your league here! Just surrender and all will be forgiven!"

England laughed back.

"Are all of you Spanish dregs this dense? I have told you once and I will tell you again-"

England charged, his sword clashing loudly with Spain's axe. Both men could could feel tension coil in their bodies as they tried to force the other back. England found himself nose to nose with the Spaniard and he was able to see the vivid flecks of green in his eyes and the darkness of his brow. He hissed his words as he pressed himself up against the other.

"_I bow to no Nation!_"

England pushed his body forward violently and managed to knock Spain backwards. He used the opportunity to slice at Spain's just, leaving a bleeding gash in its wake. A cry stopped him from following his swing through however. He turned around to see Drake battling valiantly against an equally valiant Spanish youth who was probably as old as he looked. The young man was winning though. England removed his second pistol from its holster and did not hesitate in shooting. Nevertheless he did lament having to kill the boy. He breathed a sigh of relief when Drake called out his thanks. He was about to reply when Drake's face became pale and when both he and Wales began to scream.

"ARTHUR!"

"MY LORD!"

Before England could react, he felt the full weight of Spain's axe crash upon his head. His saw white for what seemed like ages and he found that the only sound he could hear was an intense ringing; his head was screaming in agony. He felt warn liquid pour in what seemed like torrents down his face but he knew he had to react. He turned and moved backwards but he found that he wasn't quick enough. Blood blinded him and his pain dizzied him and Spain managed to create a gash across England's chest that was similar to his own. England could somewhat recognise Wales' voice somewhere in the distance.

"Never show your back to your enemy; that was something that Rome taught us but it seems as though I was the only one paying attention...Are you that used to showing a man your back, little bitch?"

Though he was shaking, England managed to stay upright.

"I cannot remain faced to the enemy when my child cries in such a way...Maybe it is easy for you because you are a contemptible person...Fuck you. By today's end I'll have you screaming my name..."

Spain gritted his teeth and his fury became evident.

"You have just killed _my_ child to save that...that_ fiend_ Drake...If I had my way I would drown him myself for being such a nuisance..."

Both England and Spain launched themselves each other once more, the deck below their feet becoming stained with blood. Not only did both Nations have to deal with each other, they had to watch out for bullets, wooden shrapnel and other fighters whilst they were at it. Both Nations had been shoot, the sting causing them both a familiar agony.

England noticed something however, Spain was slowing down ever so slightly. More and more he was forced to go on the defensive the longer the fight continued. England grinned the most malicious grin that Spain had ever seen; the Spaniard was _losing_. His commanders were so determined to win by boarding English ships that they were not using their ammunition. England and his people had also learnt a lot from previous skirmishes and they were using this new knowledge to their advantage. Their smaller ships had better manoeuvrability than the hulking Spanish galleons, provoking Spanish fire while staying out of range. The English would then close in, firing repeatedly and damaging the sides of the enemy ships, enabling them to make the most of the winds so that the Armada was exposed to damage below the water line. Damage not so easily seen but dangerous all the same. Due to the heavy casualties, many of Spain's gunners were dying, leaving the guns to be manned by regular foot-soldiers creating a severe disadvantage. England suffered casualties also but not nearly as bad. Though the English ships soon ran out of ammunition, they had a victory.

The Spanish began to curse the 'Protestant Wind' that had cursed their campaign and even Spain was finding it hard to keep morale up within his men. All around them fire seemed to burn and the fire was beginning to burn Spain too. England became more savage, showing the curly-haired elder no mercy whatsoever and all around the two nations chaos still ensued. He grabbed the Spaniard by the arm and shoved him face first against the ships mast as hard as he could. He pressed himself against the elder, finding satisfaction in the way Spain shivered against him.

"_Give up. _You have no power here._"_

Spain tried to struggle but he stopped when England simply chuckled and held onto him tighter.

"Let's not make this any harder than it has to be, alright?"

England did not speak as Spain called him every Spanish insult under the setting sun. After Spain's tirade of hatred was over, England ran his tongue over Spain's ear and whispered maliciously.

"_You have lost..."_

* * *

><p>The Spanish fleet were forced to retreat and all evidence that the battle between the Nations on the Master-Ships was wiped off the face of the Earth. On that night England made good on his promise. He made sure that Spain wanted him by seducing him just as he did with Scotland. Though he wanted his former spouse, Spain was certainly more than humiliated by the blonde.<p>

The day after the sea battle, Elizabeth made her speech at Tilbury in front of four thousand troops, ready and waiting for any further Spanish attacks. England had forced Spain to listen and he had never felt more proud. Elizabeth spoke with passion and so England felt his heart swell with pride.

"_Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself, that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects..." _

The army looked on and listened intently.

_"And, therefore, I am come amongst you as you see at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of battle, to live or die amongst you all – to lay down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honour and my blood even in the dust."_

Elizabeth poured every ounce of feeling into her words and the men felt them. Spain cringed in humiliation.

"_I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king – and of a King of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm!" _

A cheer erupted from the English and England grabbed Spain by the hair, raising him up.

"See that? This fury is what awaits you should you dare try to invade me again. England is no underdog and we would tear you to pieces until every last man falls before we let you walk all over us, _mark my words_..."

* * *

><p>Spain had heard rumours of the Tower of London. He had hear rumours of a haunted place devoid of hope, life and warmth. A cold place were mercy was not spared. The rumours were true. He never wished to be in such a place.<p>

England would visit yet showed no kindness and no remorse to the suffering he willing inflicted upon the Spaniard. He was a lisping demon. Tempting Spain to the point of begging for some sort of release

"Seems as though I am not the only one who enjoys pleasures of the flesh. Such a surprise for such a pious man..."

Spain would lose his temper.

"If you do not want to indulge in me then do not taunt me!"

England would shrug but leave him both broken and wanting in the end.

He used all sorts of punishment such as naval whips made of rope to cut the Spaniards skin deeply, leaving it to then get infected or even rubbing salt in the wounds. Burning wax that would make the elder groan in pain. He had broken the man's nose and ribs too many times to count and offered no help when the both of them were struck by the sickness that consumed their troops after the battles. He did not however, rape him. That was something a Nation would simply never do. To force an unwilling partner was akin to immoral invasion, invasion for a reason besides supporting or liberating an ally; and invasion was something that all Nations abhorred. Spain had asked once.

"Why do you keep me here?"

England had just smiled.

"To make an example of you. To crush before I myself am crushed. That is all."

Spain eyed him for a while.

"I am not the only one who has changed it seems..."

England grinned.

* * *

><p>On the final night of his imprisonment, England visited Spain and, for the first and only time, he had not come to mock or punish him. He simply came to talk.<p>

"Why did you do this?"

Spain was taken by surprise but answered truthfully.

"I wished to both punish you and to help you. Punish you for allowing Drake to plunder my ships. Help because you seemed to need it..."

England scoffed.

"I can look after myself..."

Spain, chuckled.

"That may be so but your country is in turmoil what with a Queen who will not marry and enemies surrounding you. I know what Francis means to you and I do not wish for you to fight. If I could reinstate Catholicism, that would be one less thing to fight over..."

England pondered the words and spoke carefully.

"Foolish man. You had good intentions but you should no better than to get involved in an argument between...between _friends_..."

Spain blushed, slightly embarrassed.

"I cannot do that..."

England smiled.

"Fool."

A peaceful silence descended upon them both but England asked another question.

"What will become of us when you are set free?"

Spain's eyes bore into England's for a while, a certain fire igniting them.

"We remain enemies until the war between us is ended. But, even then..."

England nodded, knowing what the other meant. They would probably never be friends. The silence drew on until Spain spoke.

"We were married once..."

England grinned.

"Aye; we have been married on several occasions. Bigamist, you are married to Austria and yet your King married my Queen, Mary..."

Spain smiled despite the uncomfortable nature of his restraints.

"I loved you once...Every time I married you, there was affection there..."

England's grin faded and he spoke in a sombre tone.

"You love me now, but you know as well as I do that I am not the one for you..."

Spain looked somewhat sad and England seemed to know what the elder was thinking. Love counted for nothing; their relationship was doomed from the offset.

"I recall that you loved me as well...That must count for something...But sometimes it is not meant to be. God works in mysterious ways..."

The blonde sighed and got up. He began to walk towards Spain. He raised the dirtied face to look at him with his boot. His mouth was a sombre line and his eyes swirling with melancholy. He leaned down to kiss the man gently.

"Aye. That I did...And perhaps He does..."

England undid the bonds on Spain's legs and body and then lead him outside. He gave the man back to his people who had come to collect him. They did not speak but shared a meaningful glance. Words were not needed when what's done is done and both England and Spain were more than done with the fighting.

* * *

><p>After releasing Spain, England returned to the Tower not long after. It felt good to finally make his mark on the Mediterranean Nation; to prove to him that he was not weak by any stretch of the imagination. His victory had sent out a clear message to Europe that he had a couple of aces up his sleeve, most notably his navy and his spirit, and he sincerely hoped for more successes in the future.<p>

As he walked through the corridors, he found himself looking for someone rumoured to have been kept there for a while. Someone that he knew quite well and that had persistently broken the law and, thus, had landed himself in one of the most infamous prisons in the world. England knew that he wouldn't be in there long, he would personally make sure of that, but he was still rather curious to see how he was faring. His curiosity and desire to see the man had only increased since Wales had mentioned him weeks earlier when they had fought before his sea battle with Spain. He sensed the man before he saw him and he made his way to the dingy cell. He lent upon the bars, the noise of his movement alerting the other of his presence since England usually preferred to keep his aura hidden.

"_Feck off_. Oi do not want yer 'ere..."

England tried to resist smirking but failed. Oh, Ireland was a fire cracker indeed. Even though he was covered in a thick layer of filth, blood, and sweat; even though he was cut and bruised; even though he looked like he hadn't slept in days and even though the very nation that held mastery over him was right there, he raised his chin in pure, fiery defiance and he spat his words like venom. England had always liked feisty people or Nations as partners; it made everything all the more interesting and their eventual submission to his charm all the more sweet.

England's gaze met the Irishman's and he saw how _hateful_ those Irish eyes were. But, behind the hatred, he saw that peculiar heaviness that he had become accustomed to. If he were not blessed with the sharp senses and heightened awareness of a Nation, however, he would have missed it completely since the hate was just so strong. The blonde's voice became low and sweet.

"Now why would I do that when I would much rather stay here with you, hmm?..."

Ireland blushed as any words seemed to be caught in his throat and England grinned. He was beginning to see what Wales meant when he said that the Irishman was rather smitten with him. The signs now seemed so blatantly obvious with each passing moment; England, no matter how modest he was about it, couldn't deny the fact that he was a very handsome young man indeed and thus reactions to his appearance and demeanour had become rather common place. He noticed the reactions easy enough with Wales and to an extent France and Scotland but never really so with Ireland unless he baited him. He couldn't really fathom a reason why. Ireland's eyes lit up with fury; the fire within them bitter in its nature. The older man was finding it hard not to shout at the other.

"Waaat_ more_ do yer want from me? Yer takin' away _everythin'_ as yer _bastard_ people _defile_ me land an' _abuse_ me people an' yet yer _still _want ter humiliate me further?"

For a brief moment, Ireland looked genuinely distraught and resentful. He shook his head to will away tears.

"Ye've becum _cruel_, fella, whaen yer _never_ were. Ye've becum so, _so_ _cruel_ an' _uncarin'_ an' Oi_ 'ate_ dat..._Oi 'ate dat_..."

England, whose mouth had become a thin line, listened attentively. He eyes, no longer teasing, had become sombre as he pondered Ireland's words. He spoke after a long while but Ireland had already resigned himself to a beating since England looked so distant and cold.

"You do realise that humiliating you was not my intention at all? It never was and never has been. I was being mostly sincere when I said that I would much rather be here with you than patrolling this God-forsaken monument. Any lack of sincerity comes from pondering just how mad I am to want to spend any time at all with you when you _clearly_ do not share the same sentiment."

England shrugged.

"I came here because I was going to release you from this Tower and send you back to Ireland. I know how much you hate both myself and my Home. So, in light of that, I do not think that you really want me to go away..."

That took Ireland by complete surprise, especially since England was being absolutely sincere; his eyes held no trace of treachery. It wasn't only that that surprised the Irishman; England was not allowed to release him without the Queen's permission and he knew that England didn't have it; the regnant would have released him sooner otherwise. He realised that England would be punished severely for what could be classed as treason if he set him free. Ireland wasn't sure why the other would go to such lengths for him but his heart thumped loudly in hope; hope that England wasn't as cruel as he thought he was.

Before Ireland had a chance to respond, England spoke again, a contemplative expression on his face. He spoke in Irish Gaelic though it was a tad rusty since he hadn't spoken it in around a decade but Ireland thought it sounded more or less fine. It sounded really lovely, in fact, in that it it was soothing and familiar to the elder, especially since England had achieved a beautiful baritone voice in his late adolescence.

"Would you like to hear my story, Padraig, before you leave? Would you like me to tell you why your _darling_ little brother has become such a _cruel_ Nation? Why you are _mistaken_ in your belief that I harbour no sympathy for your plight_ and_ in your idea that I do not hold an autonomous point of view to my rulers? "

England smiled when Ireland looked very, very hesitant to humour him and even insulted with the very idea.

"Oh go on. You might as well listen since you have nothing much to do here in this lonely cell do you? Our other two brothers found it incredibly enlightening..."

Ireland regarded England suspiciously but the earnestness of his gaze did not waver in the slightest. Furthermore what the man said was true, he did have nothing better to do and if listening to England meant that he could go back to Ireland then he would listen until Kingdom came.

"Alroight...Oi'll listen..."

England's smiled in genuine happiness, his pearly teeth glinting in the low light. Ireland could feel his heart skip a beat and he found it incredibly ridiculous. It was incredibly ridiculous but he couldn't help it; England looked very endearing when he smiled like that. What he said next stunned Ireland since it had been a while since he had said something like that to him.

"_Thank you..._"

England knew that he didn't have time to lose. He did not have permission from his Queen to release the man, only to visit him. He couldn't delay or Ireland could be stuck in the Tower for _years _and he would be stuck in there with him and that couldn't happen because he _had_ to be with Wales.

Whilst he was in thought, a guard had come along the corridor to check on Ireland. This guard England had seen before and he was known for being incredibly inhumane. England watched him like a hawk as he open the door to Ireland's cell and began to check the chains restraining the red-head. Ireland watched him warily and refused to say anything when the man spoke to him. He then turned to England with a lascivious grin.

"Such a shame he's one of them savages from across the sea, right my Lord? He's silent now but I've seen his temper. He looks to be a wildcat in bed..."

Ireland's glared at the man and England snarled.

"This is _not_ a whorehouse and if you make_ any _more comments like that I will see to it that you will not be able to enjoy the pleasures of the bedroom _again_."

Ireland looked at England with surprise. England was defending him. His face flushed slightly since he suddenly felt happy that the blonde was willing to defend him instead of egging the other on. Unfortunately, the guard noticed the blush. He turned and winked at England.

"Apologies, my Lord, but look how the dog _blushes_ for you as if he's _begging _you to take him. Do not fret, I will not tell anyone if you decide to have your way with the Celt since I would kill to have a turn. Seems as though he only has eyes for you anyway..._Such a shame_."

At that moment, Ireland spat in the man's face and kicked at him, yelling all the while.

"Yer Sasanach son av a bitch! _Oi'm not a whoore or a feckin' dog!_"

The guard did not take to kindly to this and immediately turned on Ireland violently; kicking him with a heavy, leather clad foot again and again.

"Fucking bastard! I will have you hanged by-"

Ireland cried out in pain. He cried out England's name instinctively, knowing that the blonde had the power to help him. He didn't know if the other's help would extend so far however.

Ireland didn't have to worry.

As soon as the guard turned violent against the red-head and as soon as his name was cried out, a sudden surge of love, possessiveness and anger erupted in England at the sight and he rushed into Ireland's cell without a moments hesitation. He grabbed the guard by the scruff of the neck and threw him to the floor a few feet away. The guard tried to scurry backwards, feeling as though he was being burnt alive by the extent of England's anger.

"My Lord, please-"

England kicked him square in the face; his face was as taut as a glacier but his eyes burnt with ire. He felt satisfied by the crunching sound of his heel connecting with the man's nose and teeth.

"Make a sound and I promise you that I will gut you alive..."

Though Ireland could only see England's back, he could feel the fury rolling off of the younger man in waves and it both frightened and comforted him. Frightening because the sheer power England possessed when he was passionate was enough to cause pain. Comforting because England was that angry for _him_. He could admit that he didn't like to fight with England, not at all, and he was convinced that the other hated him but England's defence of him reassured him somewhat.

With the guard shivering in fear, bloodied and bruised at England's feet, the blonde grinned ferociously. He saw the man looking for a way to escape; he couldn't have that. England grabbed him by the hair in order to restrain him.

"Ooohhh...Leaving so soon?"

Ireland could smell the fear running off the man in waves and he could only imagine what the look in England's eyes must have looked like. He saw England take a piece of dirty cloth from the man's pocket and gag him with it. When the man whimpered, England tutted in deep disapproval. He then raised his leg and stamped hard on the other man shin most definitely breaking it. Ireland stared wide-eye in horror but was rendered speechless as the man's screams were muffled by the cloth. England hissed through his teeth.

"I will have you know that I do not like people abusing what is _mine_...Yes, he is Irish and yes, he is absolutely stunning but he is something_ precious_ to me...And no one has the right to treat him the way you have. Not you, not the Queen and not even God...If I could, I would stop the Queen and God, but I cannot. I _can_, however, stop you..."

The guard's eyes widened at the conviction and the treason in the Nation's words whilst Ireland could feel his stomach churn with love even though he did not like that idea of England claiming him as though he were property; he just hoped that England was being sincere with his words and quite a large part of him hoped that England didn't consider him as just property.

The guard tried to get away but, as soon as he moved, England grabbed his arm, moved behind him and twisted the arm painfully behind his back. He used his other hand to push the man's face down by his neck; the pressure applied probably fracturing the neck painfully. When the guard screamed, England chuckled; the sound haunting to all ears in the cell besides his own. He pressed his face close to the man's ear.

"Too slow..."

With that, in what seemed to be a blink of the eye for Ireland, England grabbed the man's head with both hands and twisted sharply first to the right and then to the left. Ireland closed his eyes in sheer horror at England's ruthlessness but the sickening sounds of the man's neck snapping echoed in his head and left him feeling cold. England smiled in deep satisfaction as the man became heavy and slumped in his grip. As he got up, he threw the body to the floor and kicked it to the side. He hadn't even broken a sweat. His priorities soon changed when he heard Ireland groan.

He stormed to where Ireland was and fell to his knees in front of the shivering red-head. He pulled a rag from his pocket and some water from a pouch he always carried. He doused the rag in water and tried to wipe Ireland's face but the elder man flinched; his body instinctively trying to get away from the person that had so easily killed a man a few seconds before. England frowned briefly but was understanding and gentle; a complete contradiction to his previous actions. England leaned forward and kissed Ireland's cheek sweetly, much to the other's astonishment.

"I did not just defend you to then hurt you. Come now..._Do not be afraid of me_..."

After looking into England's eyes and seeing a very rare hint of gentleness within them, he let the man continue. England softly wiped the sweat and dirt of Ireland face and the blood running freely from his lips and nose. He also let the astounded man drink from his pouch, all the while muttering reassurances and stroking his greasy, matted hair away from his face. The whole experience was unnerving for Ireland because it had been a very, _very_ long time that he had been shown such kindness from an Englishman; that he had experienced such tenderness from England _himself_. He could feel his heart swell with love for the wild-eyed man in front of him.

England soon realised that there was a problem, the man's shoulder joint was dislocated and it was only the adrenaline running through Ireland's veins that was stopping the great extent of the pain.

There was only one way to fix this but he felt sadness because it would hurt the elder man immensely. He looked at Ireland sadly and sympathy was thick in his voice.

"I must push the shoulder joint back in its socket before it becomes harder to..."

Ireland finally noted the pain in his shoulder but the sad look in England's eyes told him all he needed to know about how grave the injury was. His face was contorted with frustration and distress but he understood.

"Oi understand...Do whaaat yer need ter do..."

England bit his lip as suffering over came his features. A suffering that Ireland was not used to seeing on the blonde and especially not because of him. England spoke softly.

"I am sorry...Please..._try not to scream_..."

As soon as Ireland nodded, England leant over him to unlock the shackles that held his arms high above his head. Ireland sighed in bliss as one of his arms was finally able to rest upon his lap but groaned in pain when England helped to bring the injured arm down. England gave him a look to make sure that Ireland was ready. When the other man nodded, England grabbed Ireland's shoulder and popped the joint back into place with a strong push. He could feel the bone roll over and then go into the socket and it made him cringe internally.

Ireland could feel the acute pain shoot through his arm, shoulder, chest and collar bone. It was so painful that he could feel his head pulsing through strain as he sucked in an incredibly harsh breath. Rough but restrained whimpers and groans of pain escaped his lips as the pain seemed to be worse than normal because he was so weak and exhausted. But he didn't scream; and pride swelled within England.

By the time England was done, Ireland was trying to regain control of himself as the intense pain still coursed violently and frenziedly through his veins. Ireland was still panting from the pain and England watched him carefully, knowing it was best not to touch the other just yet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ireland had managed calm down. England breathed a sigh of relief. Ireland felt exhausted but the tiredness vanished somewhat when England then stroked Ireland's cheek gently and, for once, Ireland couldn't find the strength to complain. Concern and remorse saturated England's gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Ireland grinned lopsidedly; tiredness evident from his fluttering eyes.

"Aye. Oi am now...Tanks for defendin' me...You did not nade ter kill 'im though..."

England smiled sincerely and then grinned.

"It is quite alright and yes, I _did_ need to kill him. I cannot have my authority undermined by not administering due punishment."

Ireland chuckled at England's words and, after a comfortable silence, Ireland spoke once more.

"Alroight, tell me yer story then...It better be worth it..."

England laughed outright, secure in the knowledge that the man in front of him was OK. He made himself comfortable in front of the other man since he still had to stall for a bit of time to prove he was visiting. His expression was calm and inquisitive as he released a steady stream of his aura to ward off any other guards.

"What do you know of my life 'til now, Eire?"

* * *

><p>By the time England had stopped talking, Ireland was absolutely speechless. He found that there were so many emotions going through his body all at once that it made him dizzy. What did he just hear?! England continued quietly in Gaelic.<p>

"So you see..._I am not what I am_...And I have never claimed to be..._Please_ understand why I am like _this_..."

England gesticulated to himself as he spoke bitterly.

"I am aware that I am...not of sound mind, shall we say, and _I hate it as much as you do_...I hate teetering on this _blasted_ line between sanity and insanity."

England shook his head.

"You are all mistaken in believing that it is only my loneliness, my regret and my bitterness that have made me this way...I have tasted slavery, brother, and it appeals to me not..."

For a while, Ireland was truly afraid of England as a glint of that aforementioned insanity shone vividly and ferociously in his toxic eyes.

"I have also tasted power, however, and I have found its taste to be incredibly appealing...So much so that I crave it now and I will not be satisfied until I have obtained it...It seems, however, as though God has forsaken me and by extension you, Cariad..._everyone_ close to me..."

Ireland looked at England worriedly. The blonde just shrugged.

"If there even is a God, Padraig, then I think him even _crueller_ than what you perceive me to be..."

Ireland managed to blurt out something in defence of the God his people so desperately clinged to.

"But...laddie...Dat's heresy...blasphemy even...He...He's _not _cruel...Oi've seen 'ow my people look te Him fer support..."

England shot back at the comment without even stopping to pause. His eyes cold and hard.

"Yes, they look to Him for support but does He help them, Eire, hmm? It is_ all _well and good listening to people you _claim_ to 'love' in their plight but your people are still being oppressed and tormented. Tell me, Eire, where is your God when my people_ massacre_ yours? _**Where**__ is His so called 'love' there?_"

Ireland flinched noticeably. England's expression softened then.

"I apologise for being so crude but after everything I have seen and experienced, I think God to be the _cruellest_ being _possible_ because I do not know what I have done or what you have done to deserve any of this..."

Any severely muddled and illegible thoughts he had managed to strew together had left him when England had said those words. He was then alerted England moving from his seated position in order to loom over him in order to undo the shackles on his feet and to then break the chains tied around Ireland's torso that were in place to stop the red-head from using his Nation strength to break free. Ireland watched him warily as no amount of new understanding would ever make him lower his guard around the blonde.

The proximity of the blonde to him, however, was making him uncomfortable since England had to lean over him to undo the shackles and chains from the hands down. He closed his eyes to compose himself but it didn't stop him from noticing how the blonde's touches lingered and it made his temperature rise. His eyes snapped open when he felt a gentle hand against his forehead. The glint in England's eyes and the smirk upon his mouth were mischievous in their nature.

"Hmm, I wonder if you have a fever...You are ever so hot,_ Eire_..."

Ireland had to suppress a shiver going up his spine from the slow, sensuous way that England said his traditional Nation name. England soon removed the hand. His smirk disappeared and any mischievousness in his eyes was replace by anger and concern.

"They have not been feeding you properly even though I made it clear to them that if you were ever to be kept here then you should be fed well. I will find the culprits myself and see to their punishment later..."

Ireland shivered and spoke quietly.

"_Please don't_...Oi've 'eard Spain _screamin'_ cuz av yer...an' de way yer killed dat man just now...Leave dat business ter someone else. Yer _ruinin'_ yerself an' what's left 'ave yer mind, laddie, an' it's not 'elpin' matters..."

England chuckled. A frightening smirk pulled on his mouth and that deviously malicious gleam was back in his eyes.

"Now why would I ever do that when you are_** mine**_?"

And, just like that, the glint and the smirk were gone once more and Ireland's eyes widened in disbelief. They widened not only because he did _not _belong to anyone let alone England, but he was _completely_ stupefied with his own lack of perception. England's 'insanity' was plain as day to see and he had been completely unaware of it for _centuries _even when it was _literally_ staring him straight in the face. The blonde's almost bipolar tendencies were not only worrying, but they made shivers of fear drift down his spine uncomfortably. That glint in England's eyes was _haunting_; he would never, _ever_ forget that glint in the boy's eyes. Not even if he lived to be a million years old. He just couldn't believe that this borderline psychopath used to be an innocent, joyful little babe. England continued, smugly satisfied with the knowledge that Ireland was beginning to realise just _who _was in the cell with him.

"And until that ceases to be true I will continue to do all I can to make sure you are alright when you are here with me...I do the same for Cariad as much as I can...It is the very least I can do for you both since my rulers have, in effect, ruined your lives and I do not help matters."

England then shrugged, the smile still upon his face but much more carefree and blasé.

"And what is the point of looking after my mind when it is, for the most part, ruined anyway. It still functions however; I still theorise with men of the arts and sciences. So there really are no consequences to what I am going to do."

Ireland became noticeably concerned by the man's words but did not argue any further; he was still trying to sort out his thoughts. He said the first thing that came into his head.

"_Oi'm so sorry, Arthur..._If there wuz _somethin'_ Oi could have done..."

At the sound of his human name, England looked up. Ireland felt even more nervous about the proximity of the other man to his person. He could clearly see the minimal freckles that dusted the boy's nose and cheeks. England looked rather confused.

"Whatever are you sorry for? There was _nothing_ you could have done. Alasdair also reacted like you to my story. He blamed himself as well..."

At the mention of the older man, Ireland stiffened noticeably. He had heard all about the elder's trysts with England during the three days he was staying at his House from Wales when the dark-haired man had visited him briefly during that time. Wales had cried in front of him as he described how he couldn't even have a moment with the blonde without the Scot being there, watching the blonde as though he were prey. How it seemed as though the only time that the two Nations weren't fucking each other silly was when they were conducting official business or dining with everyone. Yet even then it was almost as if they were magnetised to each other.

Even Elizabeth and her court had questioned the amount of time that the two men privately spent together but England would always reply that he and Scotland were simply 'catching up' and 'building new bridges.' Hah! Building new bridges his arse; it was blatantly obvious that that was a lie. Away from the Court, however, Elizabeth was said to have been incredibly suspicious and even rather frustrated but, no matter how much she pleaded for the truth, England never changed his story and thus the Queen conceded.

Ireland sympathised deeply when Cariad confessed that he was sure that he had lost England entirely every time he had accidentally caught or heard England and Scotland together during those long, _long_ eight days. He thought that he had lost the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life loving because it seemed as though England was _far_ more impassioned for the tall, handsome Scotsman than he had ever been for the petite, beautiful Welshman. Behind England's back, Ireland had tried to comfort the other but he wasn't sure if he was successful. Wales seemed receptive to the idea that his relationship with England could be sorted out but they both _knew_ that Scotland had a very rare bond with England, a bond certainly rivalling the one he had with Wales. Ireland couldn't help but feel his body burn with an emotion he hated above all others; jealousy. When he replied to England's words, he tried to keep the iciness from his voice.

"_'Tis always feckin' nice ter knoow waaat Scottie's bin tinkin'_...An' Oi'm sorry for everythin' dat's 'appened ter yer Oi suppose. Oi didn't really knoow dat you were 'urtin'...Oi mean, _everyone_ 'urts but Oi didn't knoow it 'ad gotten ter _dis_ stage..."

As he continued trying his best to unlock and break all the heavy, rusted chains in order to free Ireland, England picked up on the resentment in Ireland's voice when he mentioned Scotland and after a pregnant pause, he asked a question he had been wanting answers to for quite some time. England levelled his face so that he was nose-to-nose with the Irishman and then his cocked his head to the side in a rather adorable fashion. Ireland was _this _close to telling the man to get away from him. His scent, his eyes, his warmth and the sound of his voice were driving Ireland wild and his freed hands were bunching into fists.

"Do you love me, Padraig?"

If Ireland was tense before, he was shocked to stillness now. He had even stopped breathing as any air was knocked right out of his lungs and a boiling heat burned his cheeks at the suddenness of such a personal and intimate question. What could he say now? England had begun to blush as well when the heaviness in Ireland's eyes became much weightier, conveying emotions he could easily define but couldn't quite believe. He saw love, lust, disgust and even _fear_. The man's eyes had practically become molten emeralds with the extent of the emotions coursing through his veins. He then saw pure dread rise up within the elder. Ireland realised that England had probably seen every emotion within his eyes and expression before he could cover them up. Ireland glared at the floor in an attempt to cover up his emotions.

"In whaaat way yer talkin' about? 'Cos as kin, aye, Oi do suppose dat love yer..."

When England saw that Ireland was going to evade his question, he changed tactics. He gently took hold of Ireland's chin and turned his head so that the were nose to nose-to-nose again. As he looked down upon Ireland he could clearly see what he had thought for centuries; the man was _beautiful_. Even thoughhe was scowling and absolutely filthy, England knew that that face could make even the coldest hearts melt with desire. He wasn't lying when he had told the guard that Ireland was a stunning man. He was just so very pleasing just to look at with his distinct Celtic features that seemed so different to England's own visage that was a flattering mixture of Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Viking and Norman with only his eyes alluding to a Celtic past and present. The gentle flush upon the red-head's face was so very becoming that England only wanted to increase its colour. The Irishman's voice, though not nearly as symphonic as Wales', was distinctly musical and rhythmic; entirely enchanting to his ears. He tilted the man's chin higher and towards him; forcing the elder to look him in the eyes. By this moment, the tension was palpable.

"Do not dishonour me by evading my question, my Black Bird. You _know_ the nature of love that I am talking about..."

England then bent down and kissed the curly-haired man on the lips chastely. Though chapped, the man's lips were warm against his own. Ireland's eyes fluttered close of there own accord and his heart felt as though it would burst forth from his chest. He could feel it beat rigorously and harshly against his rib cage and he was finding it very hard to breathe. His hairs stood on end as though he had been struck by lightning. England could feel the intense heat now radiating off the Celt's face and he smirked into the kiss.

When they parted, England remained close and nuzzled his nose against the other's softly. Ireland's instincts had taken over as he leaned in to brush his lips against England's flirtatiously, not quite pressing them fully. When England did try to press their lips together, however, Ireland found himself moving away with bashfulness; he was rather startled by his own impulsiveness and not even sure if England was returning his feelings or just simply playing him like a well-strung violin. His breathing was harsh and each individual breath was quick and sharp. He began to feel dizzy with the lack of oxygen. When he looked into England's eyes, his breath hitched at the affection that glazed them. It was at that moment that he truly believed that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance, no matter how slim it was, that his feelings weren't as one sided as he thought. It wasn't long before they somehow became drawn to each other once more.

Before either of them fully realised, England had a hand fisted in Ireland's hair at the nape of his neck, pushing him closer whilst the other hand supported him against the wall. He took a dominant role and pushed his body forward so that his torso pressed Ireland's against the cold stone behind him. Ireland's arms were wound tightly around England's neck as they kissed deeply. Although he was a bit miffed that he was submitting to someone who was, physically anyway, more than five years his junior, he couldn't bring himself to care.

During the kiss, Ireland had brought a hand down to cup the younger man's cheek in a sweet caress and his spread legs had begun to wrap around England's thighs. What was he doing? He couldn't let the other man have any more power over him and here he was practically giving himself away! He was giving himself away...but he couldn't help himself, not when he felt love with every fibre of his being.

On England's end he was completely surprised not only be Ireland's reaction, but also his. The stirrings of warmth in his heart gave way to an astounding tenderness and affection for the man under him. An affection that was incredibly disadvantageous and risky to have since it would complicate matters severely. He swallowed any and all of Ireland's quiet moans and even found his own sounds of pleasure escaping the confines of his throat. He shivered when he felt the elder's leg's wrap around him. He briefly lowered his hand so that he could wrap Ireland's thighs tighter around his body. When they parted for the second time, panting heavily and chest heaving, Ireland glared at the blonde above him.

"_Oi don't love yer..._"

England's eyes went wide but then he grinned; Ireland was a terrible liar at times. The blonde decided to humour him anyway but a knowing look lingered in his eyes. Ireland knew that he was officially screwed for the rest of his life.

"Whatever you say, _love_..."

Ireland's hand grabbed England's collar and pulled downwards sharply. He hissed viciously.

"Don't call me that..._Especially_ if yer don't mean it..."

England's smile became more sincere as he stroked the man's face. He looked sincere but Ireland noticed that, over the centuries, England had become much, _much_ better at concealing his true emotions. The smile was upon his face was kind but his eyes were almost blank and very distant; the affection that he saw within them long gone. The sudden change made him question if the affection was ever truly there.

"Who knows?..._I am not what I am_..."

Ireland resisted the shiver making its way up his spine; that phrase suited the Englishman much too well and it unnerved him. The incarnation of England was a being to be genuinely fearful and cautious of he realised.

"Now, stop looking so ravishing and let me break these last few chains..."

Ireland had to fight back a retort as he blushed; he still couldn't trust that England would release him. Yet, England had made good on his words and broke all of the chains restraining Ireland. The elder man's body was stiff with disuse and incredibly sore from abuse and torture. England looked him up and down and then hummed.

"You will not leave until you have been bathed and fed. I will also provide you with new attire. I am not sending you back to Ireland in this state."

Ireland really wanted to tell the younger man to shove his food, bathing and clothes but England beat him to it.

"You will _not_ argue with me. Please, just let me do this for you..."

Ireland hesitated but nodded. When England picked him up bridal style however, he complained.

"_Oi'm** not** a feckin' bride, England..."_

England glared at Ireland; his gaze was level but incredibly cold.

"I do not _have _to release you from here, you know. I could leave you here to _rot_ for as long as I hold power over you..."

Ireland had to suppress a shiver as he made no further complaint. England's gaze contorted and became ominous and threatening as he began to leave the cell.

"Remember that I _will _be punished for this; _for helping__** you**__. _Even though I do this out of the goodness of my heart, I have found that the whims of a heart can _change _with the right..._incentive_..."

England''s voice became a sinisterly harsh whisper that was hissed through pearly teeth.

"If you know what is good for you, Ireland, do not give me that incentive. _Do not make me change my mind about setting you free_..."

Ireland gulped and nodded, knowing in his heart of hearts that he did not have the strength to fight and that England was being deadly serious. When England took a note of the Irishman's resignation, he smiled icily and his tone of voice became much more gentle albeit mocking.

"Now there's a good Black Bird ..."

Ireland couldn't help but flush with humiliation as the blonde carried him through the Tower undetected (how he managed to do that he would never know). The blonde had ended up taking Ireland to a chamber and, after dropping the other on his bed, addressed him for the first time since threatening him at the Tower.

"I am going to get water for a bath. Do not leave this room and if someone _should_ enter, even if it is the maids, hide _there_-"

Ireland looked to where England was pointing. It was a huge tapestry.

"There is a door to a secret chamber that I have hidden using magic behind the tapestry. The magic will let only Cariad in but now yourself also. It will keep you safe as long as you do_ not_ move from there until I have come back."

When Ireland nodded obediently due to the intensity in England's words, England smiled and bent down to kiss the man sweetly.

"I will be back soon and remember; hide there if you need to and, no matter what, _do not come out_."

Ireland nodded after returning the kiss, not bothering to hide that he really liked England kissing him. When the other left, Ireland found himself feeing incredibly alone. He tried to busy himself by looking around the room. He was surprised that England's room, though comfortable, was incredibly bare except for a vase full of roses, the tapestry and a couple of grand Renaissance style paintings upon the wall. The paintings were stunning to look at; the details so fine and the colours strong. He saw they were signed with the single name 'Romano' and he wondered why this name sounded familiar. He then got up to see the tapestry. He didn't touch the fabric, scared that he would stain it, but he looked carefully at the story being told.

There was a family at the top, a woman and five children. They seemed to be happy but along the tapestry the woman and the two smallest children were taken away by an armoured man and the remaining three scattered. The woman later died and one of the smallest children was taken away from the other and did not appear again until much later in the tapestry. Later, the armoured man fought the tallest child but seemed to be mostly unsuccessful. He built a wall and brought the remaining smallest child to the taller boy only to take him away again. Soon, the armoured man died and, in his stead, a tall, blonde man and three Vikings in their ships came for the remaining small child. When they left, ships from France came to the smallest child from across a stretch of water. As he continued looking at the tapestry he realised that he knew this story. It was _England's life_ he was seeing. The unfinished bottom with the beginnings of what seemed to be the destruction of Spain's Armada seemed to confirm it.

Before he could keep on looking, someone knocked at the door. His instincts kicked in immediately and he darted behind the tapestry. He came face-to-face with the door and he burst through it, feeling the warmth of magic for a while. He slammed the door shut. His breathing was erratic and he was sweating. He heard a couple of voices enter the room.

"Lord Kirkland , are you in here?"

Ireland's breath caught in his throat. It was one of the Queen's advisers but he couldn't exactly pinpoint which. He could also hear what sounded like a Servant's voice.

"The tapestry moves, m'Lord. I will check behind it.:

Ireland began to shake as he heard sounds near the tapestry."

"There's no one 'ere, m'Lord...Might just movin' because the window's open..."

The servant moved away and the noble spoke.

"I do not believe he is back from the Tower. He will probably be back tomorrow at the latest..."

With a grumble the advisor and his servant left and Ireland released a breath he was holding. As he released the breath his knees gave out a little. He never thought that his life would be like this; full of fear for his people and himself and imprisoned. He yearned for freedom but couldn't get it and it left an incredibly sour taste in his mouth.

He looked up at his surroundings and realised that he was facing a tiny chapel. It was incredibly bare but had two stools and a small alter that had a crucifix and was filled with candles. There was a lit fire in the fireplace by the wall and what looked like a tub with a drain next to it. In one of the corners of the room there was a small bed and next to it a book shelf with a few books and a small lute rested against it. It surprised Ireland that though England's sea voyages meant that he had come into some personal wealth, he really did not seem to enjoy the lavish lifestyle that many of the English nobles he had encountered did. He seemed to love his art, books, instruments, clothes and jewellery but that appeared to be the extent of his spendings. He looked after himself, that was for sure, but Ireland was certain that he didn't spend more than was strictly necessary.

Ireland approached the alter and, as he did, he suddenly collapsed to his knees and began to sob. He prayed desperately to the God his people so believed in. He begged God to take away his feelings for England because it made his imprisonment under England and his people all the more painful and he did not know how much more he could take.

"Father Oi do love 'im..._Oi do love him_ but Oi canny take any more uv dis...Oi _cannot_ 'ave been made te be a slave forever..."

He prayed passionately for the freedom he so wished for and he also prayed for England; he prayed that God would grant England strength he needed to fight his demons and the peace of mind he so craved. He even prayed to God to better their relationship somehow. He was so upset that he didn't notice the sounds of someone entering England's chamber and then entering the hidden room. He was alerted to the presence of another when he heard something heavy being placed on the floor and the door slamming shut. Ireland spun round quickly in fear but was relieved as soon as he saw bright green eyes and blonde hair. England cocked his head to the side, his eyes boring into Ireland's in a way that made the elder man want to squirm.

"Why are you crying, Black Bird?"

Ireland flushed with shame and wiped his eyes hastily.

"Oi'm not feckin' cryin'...Oi'm jist...Oi'm jist so tired..."

England looked at him calculatedly but said nothing. He took the huge piles of water off the ground by their handles easily. He filled the tub with one and placed the other in a pot on top of the fire. From the second pile came the lovely scent of roses and lavender. England grabbed a stool and sat by the tub. He looked at Ireland who was still on the floor.

"Well? Strip and get in."

Ireland flushed more with indignation.

"Oi'm notgonna strip witcha 'ere! Please, Oi canny..."

England sneered even though he knew the other was uncomfortable.

"I have to stay here because people in this place are looking for me and, should things not go to plan, I have to do whatever I can to get you to safety. Now, stop being embarrassed..."

England's mouth morphed into an enticing smile as he crossed his legs, propped his elbow upon his lap and rested his head on the propped hand.

"I have seen that marvellous body of yours before in much more..._intimate_ situations have I not?"

Ireland gritted his teeth at the sense in England's words but tried to resist being affected by England's generous complement. His body was not marvellous; he was starving, exhausted and sick. The Celt took off the rags he called clothes and got into the heavenly warmth of the bath. He noticed that England had taken off his coat and was rolling up his sleeves but didn't think much about it. He brought his knees up but jolted when England poured some of the remaining water that was left in the first pile on his head. England spoke soothingly.

"Easy now, I will become bored if I sit here doing nothing and you are still too weak. I do not want to risk you fainting."

Ireland nodded and let the younger man wash the grime from his hair and body using soap and a cloth. The blonde even combed out all the knots in his hair. England allowed the elder to wash himself when it was inappropriate for him to do so and Ireland was thankful. As he continued to wash himself, England removed the other pile of water from the fire. He tested it to make sure it was the right temperature and returned to the Celt. When he was done England helped him up and asked him to stand by the drain. He then poured the water, which had been boiled with roses and lavender to create the wonderful scent, over Ireland to remove any lingering grime from the dirty bath water. England grabbed a towel and began to dry the Celt starting at the unruly curls upon his head.

"You look much better now...Much healthier and such..."

Ireland kept any words to himself and simply nodded in acknowledgement. England didn't ask any questions about Ireland's mood since it was a long day for the Celt.

"I have brought you food and some new, warm clothes. We will be leaving as soon as night falls, which will be in around four or so hours so that we can reach the docks by morning. I will see you off there..."

Ireland frowned and spoke.

"Why ye doin' al' av dis for me? Why ye takin' such a risk for me?"

England looked at the man with mild surprise and then smiled sincerely as he continued to dry the other's hair. Ireland blushed as the smile even reached the blonde's eyes making him look even more handsome than usual; he looked kinder and more like the England he used to know.

"I have no singular reason but believe me when I say that these reasons are not borne from self interest... I am helping you because I want to. Because I _care_ about you believe it or not...You are not a criminal and my Queen wastes space in the Tower imprisoning someone who does not even deserve to be there."

Ireland seemed to ponder these words but seemed to only be more confused. England shook his head.

"Do not think about any implications behind what I have said; just accept my words for what they are for they are sincere. If you do not believe my words then look into my eyes..."

Ireland looked up shyly. England's eyes were incredibly tender and it made the Celt uncomfortable because such tenderness was rare from England.

"You know as well as I do that my eyes are the most honest part of me if I choose not to hide what I am feeling. Do you see any treachery? Do you see any dishonesty?"

Ireland shook his head, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. God did not answer his prayer; he was still in love if not more so and it killed him inside.

"No, Oi don't..."

England could feel his heart break as Ireland's tears began to fall. He had caused this pain. Perhaps not himself directly but it was his people that were causing the other to suffer so much and thus he blamed himself. He blamed himself because he couldn't make Ireland's pain go away. He cupped the man's cheek gently.

"Then why not put your faith in me this once since you have nothing more to lose? I_ do_ care about you and I _will _get you away from here even if it kills me...So do not cry, _please_..."

Ireland found that he couldn't keep a hold of his emotions any more. He was exhausted and desperately homesick and everything he had experienced that day and over the years was catching up with him and overwhelming him. He began to sob quietly in England's hold; his head resting sorrowfully on the younger man's shoulder. He felt England becoming steadily more frantic with worry. Ireland knew that he wasn't acting like himself; just like England was not himself when in the grips of madness. The only difference was that Ireland could feel the grips of depression instead. He was a proud nation and yet he was crying because his body just didn't know how else to get rid of all the pent up feelings that were engulfing him.

He couldn't leave England worrying though.

He looked up and reached to cup the younger man's cheeks and, even though he was still crying and naked, he brought the other's face closer to his so that he could kiss him. England's eyes widened in shock but he yielded to the other man's gentle kiss. In that moment, England was sure that he would

have done almost _anything_ short of hurting Wales if it would make Ireland stop crying. Ireland's heart soared when he felt the younger man's cheeks and lips heat up under his caresses and when the younger man began to kiss him back. The towel upon Ireland's head fell to the floor as England's hand reached out to run them selves through his curly hair instead. When they parted for air, Ireland whispered passionately.

"_Alroight..._"

The elder man then laughed despite his tears, his head cocking to the side in an adorable manner.

"Maybe, just maybe, Oi wus wrong aboyt yer, laddie..."

England looked curious.

"What do you mean?"

Ireland smiled.

"Oi called ye cruel earlier an' perhaps yer can be...No, yer definitely _can_ be...But Oi didn't nu de whole story did Oi?"

The red-head patted the other's cheek.

"Dat is waaat Oi want, yer nu. Oi want ter nu _everythin' _aboyt yer an' yer me an' Oi want us ter 'av a _better_ relationship wan day cos Oi lo-"

Ireland paused, recognising his slip up blushing. The slip up didn't go unnoticed by England either whose heart began to speed up.

"Cos Oi _care_, laddie. Oi 'ate yer _so much_ sometimes cos av waaat yisser people 'av done an' continue ter do ter me an' me people. De 'ate is so strong dat Oi can _feel _it eat away at me an' 'tis _al'_ dat drives me sometimes...Dat won't change easily but whaen yer do things loike _dis_..."

Ireland smiled and it was quite possibly one of the sweetest things England had ever seen.

"Yer make it 'arder ter 'ate _you_. Yer give me 'ope dat, wan day, things 'ill be _better_."

Ireland smiled tearfully.

"Cos, after al', Englan' 'as shown Oirlan' kindness an' honesty an' so Padraig's faith nigh lies in Arthur's 'ands dis once. Oi'll believe in yer wholly dis once and _only_ dis once so please, _don't let me down_..."

England stared wide-eyed at Ireland but then grinned, his eyes creasing with joy.

"_I would not dream of it_..."

England suddenly grabbed the Irishman and kissed him hard. His hands ran down Ireland's body and settled on his hips; pushing their bodies closer and closer. His tongue shoved itself into the elder's willing mouth as he hoisted the older man up by the thighs in order to carry him to the makeshift bed in the corner of the room. He managed to lower both himself and the older man gently upon the bed somehow but before he could continue, Ireland placed a gentle finger upon his lips to shush him. There was a cheeky grin upon the elder's flushed face. England's gaze became mesmerised by the elder's heaving chest and the almost virginal blush upon his cheeks.

"An' when did Oi say dat ye could take me?"

England smirked and lowered his head to kiss the elder's ear and neck amorously. The low purr of his voice and the feel of his lips upon his sensitive skin had the red-head fighting to suppress a moan.

"I do not suppose that you will be complaining?"

Ireland seemed to ponder this for a moment before answering with conviction.

"No."

England smiled happily at this.

"Excellent."

As their love-making continued, night slowly descended upon the land though England knew that the area would be far from peaceful. He knew that the Queen would have, by now, discovered both his and Ireland's absence and she was an incredibly smart woman; it would not take long for her to put two-and-two together especially as she _knew_ that England wanted to send Ireland home. England's hold on Ireland tightened as the man continued to writhe under him; he did not want him to leave his sight. He wanted him to be free because he knew what it felt like to be a prisoner, but that didn't mean that he wanted the other to be away from him. His thoughts were interrupted when a hand touched his damp face and hair.

"Yer tarts drift away from here an' now..."

England stared into Ireland's glazed eyes and he smiled as he caressed the other's bare thigh.

"Yes, but never far from you..."

Ireland gasped out when England's rhythm slowed to something sensual and unhurried. He hugged the younger man to him and his heart raised all the faster. They were already connected intimately and yet that connection just didn't seem to surpass the smoothness of England's skin upon his and the steady flow of heat and energy. He ran his hands over that heated skin and through the younger's barley-coloured locks and he felt his own skin tingle beautifully. He wanted more of the feeling and he almost sobbed when England raised himself slightly.

"Art'ur..._Art'ur_..."

England's brow creased when he heard the distress in Ireland's voice.

"You make my heart break with such sounds, Blackbird..."

Ireland's hands clawed at England's back and the blonde could help but arch his back and toss his head at the delicious feeling.

"Closer, Damn it..._Touch me_..."

England's face flushed red but he did as he was asked to happily. Ireland whispered against his lips.

"Oi 'ave...never experienced dis...Dis need te touch someone else..."

England eyes widened with slight shock but then he laughed gently but without mockery. A genuine, loving laugh that filled Ireland with warmth. England was certain now that Ireland loved him; and the knowledge left him feeling extraordinarily happy and light. It was a feeling that he never wanted to forget or take for granted. When Ireland tried to withhold any further moans out of pure fear that someone would hear, England nuzzled his cheek reassuringly.

"Do not be quiet, my love; the magic in this room ensures silence outside...Here is the one place in England where you will never have to be afraid...Here is the one place in England you can call a 'sanctuary'..."

Though Ireland still felt slightly shy about expressing such emotion openly, he wanted to show England how he felt even if he just couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Perhaps, just this once, he could show England just how much he meant to him. He allowed himself to be vulnerable for the younger and he moaned for him.

"Yer still too far away...Oi want yer arms around me...Oi want yer te feel what Oi'm feelin' now, if only fer tonoight..."

England slowly and gently manoeuvred himself so that he was closer to the elder man. He smiled as he whispered in the elder's ear.

"Silly Padraig. Do you not know that I will always feel for you?"

Ireland blushed at the sweet words but thought it best not to think on them too much. He wanted to believe what the younger said. England touched Ireland intimately with a mixture of firm and feather light touches and was _never_ rough. Ireland couldn't remember the last time that he was treated so kindly and so affectionately; treated as though he was worth so much more than just a piece of conquered territory. He knew that the next time he saw England they would be enemies once more but this night would remind him of all the great things that laid beneath the blonde's cruel smirk, frenzied eyes and wild recklessness. England leaned forward to whisper in Ireland's ear when the elder's writhing became more pronounced.

"Cum for me, darling Black Bird. _Feel me_...feel me in every part of you..."

It was England's loving caresses, gentle movements and husky voice that made the Irish avatar see white as the sweet bliss of his climax overtook him. And England's words rang true; he did feel every part of him. From the very crown of his head to the tips of his toes, everything in the world disappeared until every one of his senses were filled with nothing but the handsome blonde on top of him. The blonde Nation smiled fondly at the sight and finished with a lustful groan of the Irishman's name. England pulled out of the elder man and moved to lay next to him. He wrapped the red-head in his arms, wanting to give him reassurance and feeling incredibly affectionate himself. Ireland blushed bashfully, still incredibly unused to such loving treatment, but snuggled closer to the younger. He laid his head upon the blonde's chest and was comforted by the pounding heartbeat slowing to something calmer.

"Sleep. I will wake you when it is time to leave. Whatever happens tonight, do not forget that I care about you..."

Ireland nodded gently and responded by kissing the skin of England's chest before falling into a light sleep.

* * *

><p>It was with gentle urgency that he awoken a couple of hours later. England handed him his clothes and he was secretly thankful to be in something clean and warm. England also gave him a heavy cape with a fur-lined hood.<p>

"Whatever happens, do not lower the hood...Red hair is not common in these parts aside from the Queen's..."

Ireland let the blonde lift the hood to his head calmly, but his heart was racing. He didn't think he had ever been more afraid in his life. When England began to lead him through a secret network of tunnels connected to his concealed room, he was waiting for the moment that someone would be waiting for them. As England hoisted him up onto his strong horse, anxiety ate him up inside. He held onto England tightly but his hands shook. England used a free hand to hold on to those shaking hands.

"Shh, Black Bird. I _swear_ that you will be safe..."

The anxiety did not fade. The Thames port became visible in the light of the moon and Ireland could see that England was steering the horse towards a particular merchant ship with a small crew. He thought England was going mad until one of the men in particular called out to the blonde. He was of average height but even in the dim light of the moon he was very handsome, his features sharp with age and his body strong and toned with work. His earth-coloured eyes were alive with happiness and his chestnut hair hung to his shoulders.

"My sweet Lord and Captain! Your presence certainly warms my heart on this chilly night!"

England laughed as he dismounted and helped Ireland down. The elder remained silent.

"_Shh, _you fawning _scut _of a man!"

Ireland watched how the two men interacted. Even though England was physically younger than the human by a couple of years, the human looked at him with a devotion that Ireland found both endearing and vexing. Endearing because it was innocently affectionate in its nature. Vexing because the relationship between the two was deeper than what it appeared to be especially when the man kissed England's cheek and the ring on his finger as a symbol of allegiance.

"My dear Captain, you have known me for at least fourteen years and yet you still speak to me as though I am still the brash varlot I was when you first met me..."

Ireland watched as England's expression softened and cupped the man's cheek, patting it gently.

"I suppose I do for I have not changed and yet you have...At times I forget that humans are more inconstant than I am..."

Ireland stiffened. This human man knew who they were. He looked at England incredulously from beneath his hood but then realisation hit him; England clearly trusted this man with his entire life. This was a man that England _loved_. This was the_ one _man who would take Ireland back to home and defend him with his very life if it was necessary. He was snapped out of his thoughts when England laid a gentle hand upon his upper back.

"Patrick, this is George Wright. He used to be my personal servant and ward but now he is my First Mate and one of my dearest friends. George, this is Patrick Kirkland, the Personification of Ireland..."

Ireland felt even more uncomfortable but some of his anxiety was put to rest when the young man kneeled before him and took his hand. The chestnut haired male spoke earnestly.

"Tis an honour, my Lord...My Lord and Captain did not tell me who I was to be escorting to the Emerald Isle but it is an honour- a privilege even- to be able to escort Ireland back to his true home..."

Ireland looked at the man for a long moment but soon saw in the man what England must have seen; he saw a loyalty, strength, sincerity and kindness that surpassed many of the humans he had come into contact with. This man was neither greedy or cruel nor was he spiteful yet there was a fire within him that spoke volumes. Ireland found the respect shown to him to be an incredibly thoughtful gesture. If England loved this man then he could certainly see why.

"Oi thank ye fer de risk yer takin' now...An' please, don't bow te me...Dere's no nade ter..."

George rose to his feet and shrugged.

"You may think that it is unnecessary to bow to you, but I do not. You deserve respect...Everyone should treat others how they would wish to be treated...My Lord Kirkland taught me that and it has stayed with me..."

Ireland's eyes softened. He turned to England who was beaming proudly at the man. George grinned.

"If it's not too bold to say, My Lord Ireland, my Lord England has spoken keenly of you and I am finally happy to meet one of the only men that my Lord holds in such high esteem..."

Ireland chuckled at England's expense, the blonde's cheeks flaring with colour.

"Enough,_ boy_. You will have more than enough time to embarrass me later on the way to Ireland!"

George laughed and winked at the blonde.

"Oh, but I am _certainly_ not a boy any more. Isn't that right, my Sweet Lord..."

The man bowed and left before England could kick him and in order to give the two Nations some privacy. Ireland suddenly felt incredibly sad. England coughed into his hand from awkwardness and from a desperate need to conceal just how upset he was by the Irishman's departure.

"You will board the merchant vessel and it will take you whichever port you choose. George and I picked the men on board personally; they are kind-hearted but if they fall short, they know what awaits them when they return..."

England looked at Ireland in the eye and, for once in recent history, he just couldn't find the strength to hide the emotions swirling in his eyes.

"Take care of yourself..."

Ireland couldn't help enveloping the blonde in a loving hug when the blonde's eyes began to tear up. England returned the hug fiercely after getting over his initial shock, wrapping an arm right around his waist and the other hand cupping the back of the elder's head tenderly. Ireland spoke fiercely.

"Oi 'ill _never_ forget waaat yer 'av done for me tonoight...Stay strong, me dear fella**.** ..._Stay strong for me_..."

England took a deep breath to steady his emotions. He was always saying goodbye when he never wanted to and he was tired of it. But he knew that this was one of those times that he _had _to say goodbye. He loved the Irishman and he had to let him go. He continued to hold the elder lovingly as he kissed him one final time under the safety of the shadowed night. Ireland could feel the chill upon his body dispel at the feeling of the blonde's lips on his. When they separated, England hurried the man onto the ship. He held Ireland's hand as he bid a farewell to his crew and to George, gifting the human with a chaste kiss on the mouth. He kissed Ireland's hands as he was forced to get off the ship and back on to the deck of the port to allow the ship to depart. As Ireland's hand slipped out of his own, he whispered a heartbroken adieu.

"Goodbye, Blackbird..."

* * *

><p>It would take a couple of weeks before Ireland saw his home but, when he did, an immeasurable amount of joy and relief washed over him. This was were he belonged and he should never have been taken away in the first place. He turned to George and his shipmates, men he had come to love and respect as much as England did and he thanked them. From the bottom of his heart he thanked them and felt genuine sorrow at their departure. He watched them sail away until they disappeared over the horizon and then he began to run. He ran as fast as he could to the home he had built himself many years previously; a place where he felt safe and at home, all the while praying that England was alright.<p>

As much as Ireland prayed, however, England was not alright. When England had returned to to the castle to face his Queen, all hell reigned down upon him. The Queen was absolutely furious; so furious that she even struck the blonde harshly across the face. The only reason the Queen did not strike him again was because Wales had moved to protect him. At the sound and sight of Wales being struck across his face, England had lost his temper completely and the Queen had withdrawn her hand in absolute horror of striking the wrong person. It did not matter that Wales had declared that he would take any beating for the blonde, England was on a warpath fighting anyone that dared to try and stop him from shouting at the Queen.

The loss of his temper on top of setting Ireland free without the Queen's permission resulted in him being locked up in the Tower. Ironically enough, he was locked up in Ireland's old cell. He had been thoroughly beaten to hell and back as punishment and tortured for around a month and when he refused to apologise for what he had done he was locked away once more, screaming that if they captured Ireland again then he would burn the Tower and Windsor Castle to the ground. The biggest torture was that Wales was not allowed to see him. He could feel Wales' sadness however and it suffocated him. The torture continued when he was told that the merchant vessel carrying George and his crew was sunk for their treachery. There were no survivors and England's heart was shattered. He wept for the loss of the man he had known for fourteen years; the man he had trusted with his secret.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to regret anything. Ireland was not free, but he was Home.

When Wales was finally allowed to release England, he found him kneeling because his arms were tied from the ceiling. His arms were so high above his head that he couldn't sit down on the stone floor without tearing his muscles. He was covered in blood, sweat and other bodily fluids and the smell made the elder twin feel physically sick. His skin was so white under the grime and his body so still that Wales thought he was dead. He knew that he couldn't have been dead but his own heart still stopped completely as he ran to the man, kneeled in front on him and sobbed brokenly, wishing with all his heart that the other would wake up. England only responded when Wales' voice became more distraught; his eyes fluttering sluggishly and the sounds of his own blood drowning him. He passed out not even a minute later; his body and mind much to tired to support him despite the pain he must have been in from his restraints. Wales took the broken body away and nursed it back until his vibrant lover was back once more, risen from the proverbial dead.

Wales had never forgiven Elizabeth for what she had allowed to happen to England and she knew as much. And Wales knew that he probably never would. England, however, did; still completely unrepentant but understanding of why Elizabeth punished him so harshly. He had not spoken to her first, undermining her authority and taking her mercy for granted. He had soured a victorious moment for her and he had paid the price.

* * *

><p>Later on Ireland would learn just how much England suffered to set him free and he was thankful. He had kept his word. Despite England's cruelty at other stages of his long life, he never forgot the kindness he had shown. He would mourn with just as much sadness as the blonde over the loss of George and his crew. It was so dangerous to love humans so much and he sympathised with the blonde. He sympathised because it was hard not to become attached.<p>

Later, when he had met the Isle of Jersey, one of the Channel Islands, he noticed the cheekiness and the sincerity in the boy and he immediately thought of George Wight. The boy would later take that name as his own with pride.

* * *

><p>England really enjoyed talking to Romano. He didn't see the man often and international meetings were some of the only times he could meet with him. He enjoyed their conversations because Romano would be much calmer. Sure, his mouth still needed a good rinsing with soap and his haughtiness was still present, but he didn't have anything to prove the blonde and thus he was more or less content. After all, this was someone who he had known almost for as long as he had been alive.<p>

It also helped that, at this particular meeting, he really, _really _needed a distraction from Wales leaving the meeting early to go on a date with Argentina. Of all nations in the world that Wales could fall in love with, it had to be Argentina. England did not actually hate many Nations, but the South American was one of the privileged few. Still, he had no right to stop Wales from seeing him. The Nation made Wales happy and gave him something that England, perhaps, could not give him; complete freedom. He loved the petite man with all his heart and thus he resigned himself to allowing his relationship with the Argentinian because he deserved to be happy after all he had put the other through. He could not be selfish; it was enough for him that he was the one person in the entire world that Wales loved the most.

Spain, however, was not particularly content about it. England spending time with his lover would mean that he would have to inevitably be around him. He certainly couldn't say that himself and England were friends since there was still to much lingering resentment, yet he couldn't say that they were enemies. They both no more Empires, Religion had lost its appeal for many of the Nations and there was no more need for land or riches. Yet, he just couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness when he looked at England. History was cruel and he would never forget that.

"_Te puedo ayudar, España?" (Can I help you, Spain?)_

Spain's concentration broke as England called him out for staring. He knew England was taunting him because that was pretty much the only reason he ever spoke Spanish.

"_No. Solo estoy pensando..." (No. I am just thinking...)_

England grinned that same malicious and cocky grin that he usually wore around the Spaniard.

"_Cuidado. Puedes dañar algo en esa cabeza llena de aire que tienes..."_ _(Careful. You could damage something in that air-filled head of yours...)_

Spain gritted his teeth but when England started to laugh without mockery, he too began to laugh. Romano smiled a rare smile, happy that his friend and his lover were not immediately fighting. He knew just what bitterness could do to a person. He knew he could have been a very different person if only he didn't continue to harbour resentment for his family, resentment for other Nations and resentment for himself. He knew that Spain and England would never bury the hatchet completely, but he didn't want them to be ruined because of it.

"Oi, _bastardo_...Come and have some wine with us."

Spain gazed tenderly at Romano and knew that he couldn't deny his request. Soon however, both England and him were at each others throats discussing naval tactics. Yes, this man was certainly not an enemy but he was definitely not a friend. And he was just fine with that.


	15. I Still Remember

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait but I've been in Colombia visiting family :3 Aaaanyways, hope you lot enjoy this chapter. It follows on from the last two chapters but it's mainly from Scotland's perspective and it is set in modern times.**

**Note: Any references to Gaul's son are about a teenage France.**

* * *

><p>It was cold.<p>

Scotland could remember how cold it was the first time he had lost everything. His country was naturally chilly but a heavy heart and hollow livelihood seemed to make the air sting as it whipped his cheeks sharply. He couldn't even remember feeling so desolate and alone; so separated from everything he loved and held dear. Britannia had died, Ireland and Mann were forced to flee, Wales was God knows where, -separated from his twin for reasons he didn't know- and England had been taken away across the sea to the Continent. Scotland knew he was one of the lucky ones; he was not a conquered nation and he was free. Yet, he would give almost anything to have his family back. If he felt so terrible, he couldn't imagine what Ireland and Mann felt about fleeing or what Britannia, Wales and England had felt about being taken away...

He could still remember everything as though it had happened only minutes before. He could remember the look of pure terror on Britannia's face. The terror felt by the woman who had raised him as her son. Yet it was not terror felt for herself, although she was naturally scared; it was sheer terror for her children and what would become of them. She knew her time was steadily coming to an end and she accepted it somewhat. What she couldn't accept, however, was that her children would inevitably suffer and that had hurt the woman more than anything _ever_ had. It hurt her more than Rome's betrayal and the concrete knowledge that she would never see her children again.

He could remember being held down and beaten so badly that he couldn't move. He had fought back- dear God he had fought back with everything he had- yet he couldn't help as his family were taken away from him. He could also remember having to force Ireland and Mann to flee since they couldn't bare to leave; the look of horror and pain on their faces. He watched as they took each other's tiny hands and run like they had never run before. He remembered how he was forced to watch as the baby twins were ripped from Britannia's arms to be carried by the Empire personally and how her hands were bound and the 'lead' given to the Empire so that she wouldn't escape him.

He had never seen the babies cry so much and he had never seen his mother cry with them. She tried her hardest not to show weakness; she spat at Rome, swore at him and kicked at him. Yet silent tears were streaming down her face because her babies were crying and they were _right __**there**_ in front of them; she just couldn't even reach out to them. Scotland never forgot the look she had given him as she was lead away. It was a look so full of love but also so full of remorse and sorrow that it was impossible to comprehend. Scotland, in the naivety of his youth, cried that he would see her again and that he loved her and the babies. Britannia knew better. She loved Scotland, or Caledonia as he was known, but she knew that he would never again see her alive.

After that the days were long and simply exhausting. Scotland had found it hard to live his daily life whilst being so burdened by the fact that his family were not with him. Over the centuries he became all the more distraught that he would never hear Britannia's tinkling laugh. He was distraught by the possibility that he would never again see Mann and Ireland dancing or Wales singing with the careless joy that came from being surrounded by love and comfort. That would never again see England practice magic so exquisitely innocent and beautiful that it left him breathless. Sometimes he swore he was going mad with grief. He swore he could see his family surrounding him and that they would talk to him. He hated those moments because although his mind knew the truth (that the hallucinations were just a lie), his heart pined for any opportunity to see those he loved once more even if the images would fade. He knew his behaviour worried his leaders; what leader feels comforted by the sight of their Nation, the one they wish to protect and be guided by, rocking backwards and forwards and speaking to things that were not there?

Even so, he continued living. He continued to fight against Rome whenever the elder Nation believed he could finally conquer him. Scotland became a bane of his existence and nothing pleased him more during those empty days. He felt that if he could just give Rome that taste of failure then his day could be somewhat made. He didn't realise however, that Rome would simply collect the bile of failure rising in his throat and spit it right back at him.

Hadrian's Wall was built from 122 AD and was opened in 124 AD. It was the most heavily fortified border in the Roman Empire and it isolated Scotland even more and the memory of its opening was a bitter one.

_'He didn't think anything could be worse than the opening of the Wall but Rome was always rather good at surprises. As Cal__edonia and his Leader spoke directly to Rome about the terms regarding the new border, he __quickly came to realise that his Mother was nowhere to be seen. A horrid knot had formed in his gut at the implications of such an event. Britannia was supposed to be__ there for the opening of this boarder and if she was not then she was either too sick to make the journey, refused travel or she had passed away. He swallowed the lump in his throat before his sorrow could choke him and focused on the task at hand. _

_That i__s, he was focused for a while until he had caught a glimpse of vibrant green and sandy blonde in the arms of someone he somewhat recognised as Gaul's son. Surely his Mother's life had not been forfeited also? Scotland could feel dread seep into his very bo__nes at the thought of Nations dying and hoped to God that what was left of those he called 'kin' would be alright. When Scotland had demanded to know who the person with Gaul's child was, Rome smiled gently but cruelly._

"_Yes, I am certain that you know him but I am also more than certain that you do not. He is not the greatest jewel in my Empire but he is one of my personal prizes and a favourite colony; my Feisty Slave whose beauty my people believe is blessed by Venus herself..."_

_Scotland looked at the man quizzically, and appealed for the elder to just give him a straight answer. Rome remained stubborn._

"_I am surprised that you have no inkling as to who the boy is."_

_Rome looked serious for a moment. _

"_He was a Britannic Prince, boy! A Prince who has lost his throne and is now a Roman slave. I am his keeper but I see him being ruled by others until he learns to crush all who stand against him. He will; after his struggles he will surely rise as King someday since he is so very strong at heart..."_

_Rome looked at Caledonia straight in the eye, his expression sombre and chilling._

"_And ye shall know him by his fruits...The fruits I sow and cultivate and that will someday, if he uses them wisely, be his power and your undoing if you are not wary; he has been blessed by Mars as you have and his potential as a warrior is great..."_

_Caledonia, though annoyed that Rome attributed one of his Gods to him, shivered at the prophetic words knowing that the elder had knowledge of the world and how Nations- people- were intrinsically that surpassed his own. He asked Rome for the name of who he was talking about and again Caledonia was denied._

"_My people call him many names both good and bad; 'The Prince of Lions' for his strength and valour, 'The Son of Mercury' for his impish cunning and simply 'Slave' to name but a few yet you know him as 'Brother' although this is hardly the case now. His greatest name is yet to come however...He may lose his way trying to find his own name and path but only due to suffering; his heart is what will keep him beautiful for love is the nourishment of the soul...Any closer to knowing who he is?"_

_Again, Caledonia demanded to see the boy because he was becoming anxious; all this predictive talk set him on edge and he couldn't help but feel as though there were double meanings everywhere. He couldn't be sure what Rome meant by 'throne', 'heart', 'cunning' or by 'suffering.' He had genuinely thought that he was either talking about Cambria or Albion although he really couldn't be sure. Rome's description did not fit either of them at all; from what Caledonia remembered, they were both just innocent babies. Again, Rome smirked as he tilted his head in a condescending show of superiority even though he was largely unsuccessful in conquering the cold, northernmost Briton. Rome growled out his words but then composed himself. Rome scoffed at Caledonia's bold demands.  
><em>

_"And why should I? You are nothing but a Devil who has a knack for irritating me. Plus, the child is guarded fiercely by Gaul's son and I am in __**no**__ mood to argue with him now."_

_Rome's expression became sour._

_ "The boy hates me as much as his mother did and will do all he can to deny me access to the Britannic boy out of both fear, love and spite. Then again..."_

_A cruel smirk lit up the Roman's face and memories of blood lust shone in his eyes._

_ "I suppose that if another Nation passed through my lands and massacred both my people __ in their thousands __and finally slaughtered my Mother Nation then I would hate them as well and I would whatever it took to protect the person I loved most in the world..."_

_Scotland felt sick at the Empire's casual tone and even glee regarding the massacre of Gaul's people and finally her own death at the hands of said Roman. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain Gaul's boy must have felt each day because at least Caledonia did not have to watch his Mother be killed. It was no wonder he stood guard over the Britannic boy. His eyes never, ever strayed far from his charge and he was always watching out for his safety above all else. Even his own. Caledonia had to find the strength to reign in his bitterness at the evident closeness his family member and Gaul's child, practically a stranger, shared; it was impossible to believe that the elder blonde would not risk his life for his charge or that he did not love him with all his heart.  
><em>

_Scotland did not relent however, Rome heaved a sigh and turned to Gaul's boy. After a short but rather fierce sounding discussion, whereby the blonde looked at his Imperial Master with suspicion and pure loathing in his ocean blue eyes, the man-child relented and asked the Roman why he wanted an audience with his charge so suddenly. Rome called out in a loud voice that spoke of a strange combination of absolute authority, a firm tenderness and conceited pride._

"_Bring me my __little colony, my Lion Cub, for this brute to see!"_

_Caledonia glared icily at Rome and then stared wide-eyed as the young boy (who looked no older than about thirteen or fourteen) was lead over by Gaul's son. Gaul's heir held on to the boy's hand tightly and made sure that the other wasn't feeling too nervous. They were still so surrounded by guards that Caledonia couldn't see his face. He could see however that the youth's skin was bronzed and his hair bleached from years in the Mediterranean Sea and sun. His lithe body was clad in the clothing of a Roman and he was armed heavily from what he could see; a sword and two daggers at his belt and bows and arrows at his back. As he left his companion's side to join his master's, the boy spoke in perfect yet accented Latin._

"_What do you want now, Roma?"_

_Rome turned to the child and chastised him gently whilst kissing both his cheeks tenderly._

"_I would not talk to me with such disrespect, my dear child; not when I have a gift for you for being well behaved as of late and because someone seems to be in need of seeing you."_

_Caledonia heard the boy make a snarky comment about not being the elder man's child of any sort and that the elder could very well take his gift and shove it up his arse. He loudly declared that unless it was a member of his family then he could not care less about who wanted to see him. Rome placed a hand upon the mystery boy's head. Damn it all, the boy was hiding his energy and so Scotland had no idea who he could be._

"_My child, even though I do this out of the goodness of my heart, I have found that the whims of a heart can __change__ with the __right...__**incentive**__."_

_Rome's voice lowered but Scotland could still hear. One of the perks of being a nation he supposed._

"_If you know what is good for you, my Lion Cub, then do not give me that incentive. Do not make me change my mind about letting you see your eldest brother..."_

_With those words both Scotland and the boy gasped. Scotland roared as his suspicions were confirmed._

"_Which of the twins do you have with you, Bastard?!"_

_The boy cried out at the sound of the voice. A voice he hadn't heard in years but still recognised somewhat. _

"_Cale? CALE!"_

_Rome let go of the boy and he ran towards the Wall. Caledonia tried to jump over it but was stopped; he couldn't cross the border without igniting another war. He suddenly found himself being hugged fiercely over the wall by the sobbing child. He spoke with a shaky voice; this couldn't have been Cambria because Cambria's hair was too dark even for this dark blonde..._

"_Child...Look at me. Please, for the Gods' sakes, look at me!"_

_At the sound of the man's distress the boy unleashed his aura comfortingly. Caledonia gasped in surprise when he felt the familiar energy. The boy looked up and smiled as he cupped the elder's cheek. Caledonia's heart swelled with both love and a crushing despair. His baby Albion...The Roman was right; he knew the boy fully and yet knew absolutely nothing at all about him. As he ran his hands over the boy's face and hair, he could see that he still retained features that were familiar to Caledonia but, on the whole, he was vastly unfamiliar. Instead of his child-like innocence and adorable features, he saw sharper facial characteristics and a deep but witty intelligence lurking within his eyes. There was also a cold hardness that unsettled him; a savage but mischievous fire in his eyes that was still noticeable despite the sheer happiness to be seen there as well. Though there was certainly a warrior's gait about him, his beauty was so pronounced that he was sure that the Gods themselves sang him praise and that mortals wept from love and envy. What had Rome done to his brother?_

"_Brother...You cannot even imagine how much I have missed you!"_

* * *

><p>Scotland remembered that particular day with both fondness and bitterness. He felt fondness because he was so happy to see England and England was just as happy to see him. He looked at Scotland with the same adoration and love that he had harboured for the elder when he was a toddler. It was beautiful. The memory was bitter however because Rome took England away again not long after they were reunited.<p>

Again, Scotland was held back both physically and by his duties as a nation; he couldn't risk another war with Rome. He cried harder than he ever had in his life as England's hand was snatched from his and when the boy was carried off in the arms of the Empire whilst screaming his lungs out.

He watched helplessly as the boy thrashed violently and his cries of Scotland's name were agonising. They pierced the air with an acute sound of betrayal. He could remember the fierce and violent envy when he saw how France comforted the boy in the distance and how clear as day it was that England was one of the most important things to the Frenchman even though he was so young at the time. Scotland wanted so badly to be the one that did the comforting and feeling resentful anxiety that his role in England's life was slowly but surely being usurped. The days and nights became chilly and dark once more as Scotland's anguish consumed him. The months, weeks, years, decades and finally centuries past him by without a care for his deep sorrow.

'England' became a united and official Nation in 972AD but never saw Albion again until 980AD...

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><p>England walked and walked. He wanted to see someone he hadn't seen in a couple of weeks due to work commitments but felt like this was a journey that he should make on foot. It was not hard for a Nation to clear distances that would take days in mere hours and England had particularly enjoyed the walk on that cool summer's day.<p>

He could see the remains of Hadrian's Wall in the distance; memories from exactly one thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight years previously flooding him as vividly as if they had only happened recently. His heart swelled with love at the sight of a man sitting on the wall facing what was 'Caledonia'. As he neared the man, he noticed how sad the other was and he rolled his eyes. He sat down next to him, facing the lands that use to be 'Roman Britannia'.

"You shouldn't keep blaming yourself, _Caledonia_, because _nothing_ was your fault. What's done has been done and though the scars remain, the love I and the family feel for you will never fade..."

Scotland turned to look at England, tears he didn't bother hiding pouring down his face. His voice was shaky and husky with emotion and Scotland's back was hunched as if the entire weight of his anguish were literally pushing down on his frame; it was as if they wanted to crush him for his trespasses.

"Those were quite possibly some uv th' worst centuries uv me life, _Albion_...Ah'll never fergive mahself...Ah can still remember hoow they _ripped_ yer hand from mine; and Ah couldnae doo _anythin'_! I swore to th' Gods that Ah would protect mah family wi' mah life an' couldnae even keep that promise. Hoow can ye still love someone who allowed tha' tae happen?"

England reached over and hugged the Scotsman tightly as he sobbed; understanding just how much pain the other was in.

"Ah was supposed tae raise and protect ye all and yet Mam died; Ela, Paddy an' Cari had tae raise themselves and ye were passed from Nation tae Nation like ah worthless toy..._**Ah**_ was suppose tae protect ye!"

England shared in Scotland's despair but truly wished that the other would see reason and believe his words although he knew that would be hard. Yes he had suffered being away from his family, then being pit against them as he struggled to come to terms with the power he wielded, but life had been incredibly hard on Scotland too. He reasoned that life had been so much harder on the Scotsman than on himself because, after all, as the eldest he carried an incredible burden of responsibility and lamentation.

"Shhh...No one blames you...We love you and nothing will ever change that..._Look at me_..."

Scotland moved from the hug looked at England timidly, feeling fully vulnerable to him. He felt a certain weight lift off his shoulder when England looked at him with that same expression his younger self showed him when Hadrian's Wall was first opened. It was that same look full of absolute devotion and love. Scotland reasoned with himself that if England was still able to look at him like that then surely the younger must truly have loved him as much as he said he did. He must have truly felt that the elder was not to blame for anything. England leaned forward and rested his head against the other's head and gave him his absolute attention.

"If I blamed you, would I be here now, comforting you like this? Would the family stand so proudly by your side, giving you nothing but their love and devotion? It's _your_ name that we keep and live for! We could have all picked different surnames but we didn't! And even if some of us did, we still retain yours! I have loved you all my life and I've been _in_ love with you for more than half of it whether I knew it or not...That will never change, you silly git..."

With those words, England kissed his second husband full on the mouth and cupped his cheek. He could taste the salt of his tears and cringed inwardly; he hated seeing the other cry from sorrow. When he cried from happiness it was a beautiful sight. When he cried from sorrow however, England knew that it was because the elder was exhausted and heartbroken. He knew that he was the cause of much of that pain and he was bitterly regretful. He wanted to make the man happy...He intuitively knew a way to lift the man from his despair...

Scotland returned England's amorous affection wholeheartedly. As they kissed, neither Nation moved further than their boundary set by the wall; they met perfectly in the middle and they later figured that it was an incredibly symbolic moment. They were separated and yet still found a way to come together. England's face flushed to fuchsia when Scotland's hands inched forward blindly to hold the smaller man's free hand and to caress his cheek and jaw.

When they had parted for air, Scotland noticed an incredibly unnatural glaze descend over England's eyes, turning them into molten mercury as they reflected the sun. The younger man smiled as his hands began to glow. Scotland watched in awe, completely mesmerised by what could only be described red energy converge to England's hands as he moved them away from the elder; pulsating with life and radiating heat. The magic was handled with next to no effort. England exuded a reverential dominance over the power flowing through his veins. The power, drunk with respect, did his bidding in response.

The energy cooled to a dark wine colour that was almost deep like blood and suddenly a ball of shimmering dust formed in England's hands. It swirled with gold colours amongst the darkness of the reds and pulsed with its master's life. With elegant hand movements and cultivated skill, England used his magic to create moving shapes with the dust, wielding the power as an extension of him and not as a separate entity. He created butterflies and dragonflies that began to fly around them; their wings fluttering gently and the sun making them sparkle more than ever. Both men laughed softly when one of the butterflies landed atop Scotland's nose. With the dust, England recreated memories of the both of them as children, playing together and laughing together.

He wanted to show Scotland that he did not blame him at all because the time he spent with him in childhood was priceless and beautiful. Scotland smiled tenderly as he was shown these shared memories through England's own eyes. As well as the visual memories, England could also convey feelings and strong emotions to a small, rudimentary extent. He watched with absolute enjoyment as understanding finally dawn on Scotland; how he now understood just how happy he had made England whilst he was still young and innocent. The elder's eyes began to well up again from emotion especially when England used even more of his energy to create the shape of a silver unicorn and a golden lion with his magic dust. Faeries, attracted to the magic, danced along with the dust animals.

In turn and to repay England for his visual gift, Scotland decided to gift England with a show of his own magic. His hands slowly pulsed sky blue until fading to a deep midnight blue; rich but mysterious. Silver ribbons of energy slivered through the darkness in his hands but, despite the rather ominous colour, England felt no fear. Scotland's magic was older than England's and yet it moved with a vibrant, youthful energy that matched its master's demeanour. With one hand Scotland cupped the back of the younger's neck head and pressed the palm of his other hand firmly into England's chest until he could feel the blonde's heartbeat. The deep blue and silver energy in Scotland's hands penetrated the layers of skin, tissue, muscle; smouldering further and further towards England's heart. Scotland smirked rather wickedly as England's eyes widened and pulled the hand at England's chest away, dragging his fingers backwards until the tips pressed against a concentrated point on England's chest. England felt as though the smouldering heat was completely concentrated in his heart; making it thunder against his ribs. By this point England had ceased to create visual spectacles with his magic and simply allowed his energy to flow freely around both himself and his lover.

Suddenly the pressure burst when Scotland splayed his fingers and pressed his palm against the blonde's chest once more. England felt the smouldering heat in his heart explode and consume his body in a fire that did not burn or injure. The sudden rush of burning heat he felt made him cry out loudly in ecstasy because there was no inch of him that was not consumed by the blaze; a blaze that was purely Scotland. The elder man soothed the younger by stroking his head with his free hand knowing that the younger was struggling to comprehend the sheer amount of power that he could wield. England was indeed in awe; to produce and control such potent magic with one hand was still slightly hard for him but Scotland made it look so easy. The blonde felt sheer rapture overwhelm him as his skin tingled with goosebumps and his heartbeat increased dramatically. He couldn't help but moan out shamelessly when Scotland leaned forward to nuzzle and kiss his cheek. He began to feel dizzy and his own magic was rising up in defence of its master; England subconsciously wishing to be rid of the sheer pressure within him. Scotland leaned back and smiled knowingly as he watched England's eyes flutter close. He groaned softly and his own eyes fluttered close as England eventually stopped subconsciously trying to repel him.

"That's it my luv...Let me in..."

England submitted to the magic that was beginning to singe the atmosphere with electricity. Scotland's magic melded with England's and sparks flew as the sheer amount of energy they were producing raged on. After a few moments a new level of harmony between the two men came into existence. As red and blue mixed together in a sensual dance, a harmony was created that had the both of them smiling rather stupidly. No longer was there war and fire; only peace and tranquillity reigned. This was how magic bearers expressed their love; through shows of their ability and the sharing of their power. Scotland lowered his head to England's ear and kissed it amorously. With a sly lick he whispered in a deep, seductive purr.

"The fire ye felt is th' fire tht rages within me whenever Ah see ye...touch ye..._love ye_...That is th' burnin' _need_ that consumes me whenever ye kiss mah lips or when we make love...This harmony yoour feeling noow- this tranquillity and peace- shows ye hoow Ah feel now that we're taegether. Ah give ye mah devotion and mah love and nothin' except God Himself can tear me from yoour side...D'ye understand just hoow much Ah care fer ye now and why Ah canny fergive mahself? Mah bonnie Arthur..._Uv all earthly joys, thou art mah choice..._"

England was rendered completely breathless as Scotland's heat smouldered within him as if reinforcing his sweet words; who knew that energy with such a dark colour could be so tantalisingly hot. Scotland was completely satisfied that England fully understood what he did to him and so repeated the dragging motion with his fingers, dragging the heat away from England's body. When he removed his hands from England entirely, he held his energy for a while and closed his hands; the energy disappearing. England's magic also faded and the two just stared at each other in awe until England smashed his lips to Scotland's one more.

* * *

><p>Wales, Ireland and Mann soon joined them, creating a reunion of sorts. They had brought along a picnic and their instruments in order to somewhat commemorate their separation and reunion. Like the faeries, they too were attracted to the vast amount of magic Scotland and England had been producing and added their own to the mix. Amongst Scotland's blue and England's red, Ireland's green, Wales' yellow and Mann's pink coloured energies swirled gently but happily; happy at the welcomed gathering. Wales' expression lit up as England's energy naturally sought his energy out due to the bond between them.<p>

"Brawd! I brought you some tea in a flask; Early Grey, I hope you don't mind!"

England grinned merrily as he gave Scotland's hand one more squeeze and jumped off the wall to run to the others. Scotland chuckled and made his way towards his family. They sat under the shade of a large tree and they each delighted in the feel of soft grass beneath their hands. They ate, they spoke of their lives together and they told stories and sang songs as old as themselves. They created more magic and shared techniques. It didn't matter that England was hardly a Celt or that Mann and Ireland were neither apart of mainland Britain or the UK. It didn't even matter that they had suffered greatly during their lives. All that mattered was that they were still together. Scotland watched the other 'ancient' members of his family with unparalleled delight. They were happy and so was he. England smiled as he saw that Scotland was finally beginning to forgive himself.


	16. Memories One: The Great Bear

**Holy hell, I am so sorry for my lack of updating . I had very important A-Level exams and then I went on holiday. But I'm back now and hopefully my updates will be more regular now that I'm on holiday! **

**Thank you for all your support and the lovely reviews you've left. Hope you wnjoy this chapter!**

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><p>"Alba?"<p>

Scotland lifted his head from the book he was reading at the sound of his traditional Nation name. England's green eyes were alight with both curiosity and apprehension and he looked as though he didn't quite know how to say what he clearly wanted to say. The red-head waited for a short while in order to allow the younger blonde to formulate his question properly.

"What was your Father Nation like? You knew my Mother but I never did get to meet your Father..."

Scotland's eyes widened and he realised why England was being apprehensive; he never spoke about both his and Ireland's father. He didn't speak about him, not only because he was still mildly upset about his passing and he missed him, but mainly because he genuinely didn't have anything left to say. What could he say? Nations are born and Nations can die; it was just unfortunate that his Father Nation had to show him that. The red-head's expression softened since he knew England only asked because he wanted to know more about him; it wasn't an attempt to upset him only an attempt to create greater understanding. He extended a hand for England to join him on the sofa.

"Sae ye want tae ken ah wee bit aboout mah Papa Celt..."

England seemed relieved that the other wasn't mad at him and he made himself comfortable next to the Scot.

"I would like to know about him, if you don't mind...Mother Britannia would always speak very fondly of him and she constantly rejected Rome's advances because of him, even though he had died some decades before hand..."

Scotland smiled tenderly for a moment and then spoke.

"Aye, Ah ken yer Ma loved mah Da dearly...An' Ah think it's appropriate tae tell ye that mah Da adored yer Ma. He preferred tae live quietly in th' North an' although it has always bin cold, back then the chill could be biting. But yer Ma brought warmth tae his world...She completed him..."

England smiled with Scotland as he spoke of the love their respective parents shared. Scotland ran a hand through his hair, recalling memories as old as he was.

"Erm, mah Da had ah thicker build wi' regards tae his body but Ah think he looked more like Patrick looks now, although Patrick thinks that I look more like he did..."

England rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You and Patrick look similar anyway. You're blood related..."

Scotland rolled his eyes and spoke teasingly.

"Ye an' Cari look similar and yer nae blood related any more cus yer cultures developed along different lines..."

England raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, well, that's Cariad and I; stop getting distracted..."

Scotland chuckled, a deep rumbling sort of sound and England could feel its vibrations through his own body.

"Alright, lad. Papa Celt had red hair longer than Paddy's noow an' Ah remember that he was very tall an' thickly built...He was th' friend uv both man an' beasts..._'The Great Bear o' th' North'_ the people in our Tribe woulds say. He didnae speak much but, when he did, his voice was gruff an' deep..."

England noticed a certain glaze to Scotland's eyes and he knew that the elder man was lost in memories; something that tended to hit elder Nations hard. Scotland was no longer with him in the living room, he knew, but running wild beside his Father and his brother in forests he had no memories of.

"His laughter was scarce an' like th' roll of thunder an' his hands were rough like sandpaper; but he was still gentle an' his smiles were true. He was as strong as an oak an' firm wi' me an' Paddy; but he luved us...He was th' kind o' man who gave praise when it was due an' nae when it was wanted. If ye did somethin' wrong he woulds let ye ken. He was honest and proud an' he taught Paddy an' Ah all we knew at that time an' then we taught ye an' Cari an' Ella...Oh, if only ye could uv seen him in battle, Artie, t'was like watchin' ah dance..."

England listened quietly, building a picture of what his lovers' Father must have looked like and been like.

"Ah remember, however, when he came back home quieter than usual. He was distracted an' sighing all th' time. Poor Paddy, thought that he was unwell an', in hindsight, Ah suppose he was reit..."

The Scot stopped speaking suddenly. When England glanced at the Scot, he noticed that the red-head's brows were furrowed.

"Look, let me show ye; everythin' Ah'm tellin' ye will make a lot more sense cus, after all, Ah can show ye better than Ah can tell ye..."

England's eyes widened when Scotland moved and pressed two fingers against his own forehead. Scotland's midnight blue energy swirled gracefully around the digits and he kept them there until his eyes turned to the colour of molten mercury. After a few seconds, he moved his hand mechanistically and pressed his finger tips against England's forehead. England gritted his teeth and furrowed his brows as he struggled to stop his energy from rising to attack the Scot. He could feel the blue energy penetrate his skin and then the bone of his skull, making its way deeper until it got to his brain. His body became lax against Scotland's, the elder man making his embrace more snug so that England wouldn't slip off the sofa, and his eyes dulled to the same colour as Scotland's. His body shuddered briefly as an onslaught of memories seemed to flow into him from his red-headed spouse. Something told him that what was happening was special but he really wasn't concentrating on his own thoughts.

'_In his mind's eye he saw a dense forest; there was nothing but brown and green for miles. The trees towered over the entire world and England could swear that he could even smell its scents; the dampness of the rain, the earth below and the wild flowers that dotted the forest floor. When he turned to his left however, he noticed that he was standing beside a man who was the spitting image of both Scotland and Ireland and to his right there was Ireland. Ireland was small and his face rounded with youth. He grinned at England, his smile so innocently sweet that it made England's heart ache. _

"_Big Brother..."_

_Big brother? England was incredibly confused until it occurred to him that he was seeing these memories through Scotland's own eyes. He looked back up to the man next to him and figured that he must have been Papa Celt. If England could blush then he would have; with high cheekbones, pale skin with freckles and long, wild hair below his shoulder blades the man looked so much like both Scotland and Ireland that it was uncanny. He was slightly more heavily built than Scotland and older however and this, coupled with his fiery facial hair, really did make the man look like a bear. A voice like quiet thunder disturbed his thoughts._

"_My son...That tree over there; hit it..."_

_England felt Scotland's young body move immediately. It was an extremely disconcerting feeling to be a part of a person's experience in such a manner. He was a simple spectator from behind Scotland's eyes and the feeling was slightly unnerving. Scotland drew his bow and arrow and took aim against a tree with a thick trunk. England noticed that the boy's aim was slightly off and, just as predicted, the arrow missed its target when it was shot, hitting a tree to its left. England heard a grunt._

"_Concentrate. Go and get your arrow and then try again."_

_Papa Celt was indeed a stern man, England realised; his voice was apathetic but his emerald eyes were icy. Scotland voiced a frustrated 'che' sound but obediently ran to collect his arrows. He could feel the boy's aggravation and disappointment in himself, but he could also feel a genuine sense of failure and sadness. England could somehow feel himself smile; even at such a young age, Scotland hated to fail those whom he loved. _

_The youngster ran back to his father and took aim at the tree once more. Ireland watched supportively but with anticipation. The air was chilly even within the dense forest, but England could feel sweat trickle down Scotland's face as though it were his own due to the pressure he felt was upon him. That made England remember something; although Scotland was the strongest swordsman, he was weakest of their family with the bow. The bow and arrow was England's talent._

"_You are over thinking things. Stop thinking about anything irrelevant..."_

_With those words, England could feel Scotland panic briefly but then calm. He took a deep breath, aimed and shot. The arrow sailed cleanly through the air and managed to hit the desired target, much to both Scotland and Ireland's delight. Scotland looked up to his Father. Although the man did not smile, his eyes were alight with pride at his son's progress. England could feel Scotland swell with joy._

"_Again."'_

Scotland retrieved his arrow with less bitterness but, before he could return to Papa Celt's side, England felt his consciousness being sucked towards another memory.

'_England found himself with a slightly older Scotland and Ireland practising their sword skills using wooded swords. Ireland was on the floor panting, bruised and bloodied in a few places, and Scotland was winded; the pain sharp and uncomfortable. Scotland moved to attack the elder Celt and England wanted to scream for him to stop lest he hurt himself more_. _The long haired Celt dodged the attack easily, centuries of expertise trumping Scotland's mere decades. It was not long before the Celt spun and followed his dodge through by striking Scotland with the hilt of his sword, causing the boy to fall. The boy turned to face his opponent and Celt merely shrugged whilst holding the tip of his wooded sword against Scotland's collar bone..._

_Later that day saw two young boys, bruised from head to toe and both sporting numerous cuts and scrapes, being treated with salve and a hearty bowl of broth by their doting father.'_

England was surprised by the gentleness of the 'Bear of the North' but he couldn't dwell on it since Scotland had begun to tug his consciousness towards another memory.

'_Even though he only recognised Celt from a few memories, even he could tell that this was a memory of the bear-like red-head not being himself. Just as Scotland had described, the man was distracted and looked forlorn and it was all seemingly without a cause. England could feel Ireland and Scotland's anxiety with the whole situation and he could understand this entirely. Nation families really only had each other; the children really relied on their family Nations and so anxiety was a shared concept. The man would not even reveal what the problem was when asked; he would grunt in annoyance, dismiss the issue entirely or blush and mutter 'I am not well'. _

_Time suddenly seemed to pass in a fast-forward manner and England theorised that Scotland was speeding up his memories to show that even though time had been passing, his Father's behaviour remained unchanged. The winter morphed to spring, the spring to summer, summer to autumn and back to winter in a continuous cycle. The cold colours of winter melted with the greens of spring and summer only to be engulfed by the fires of autumn. And yet, even though his surroundings changed, Papa Celt remained despondent. It wasn't until the following year, near the end of spring that Papa Celt became noticeably happier. His eyes were bright once more and there was an almost intolerable buzz about him. It worried Scotland and Ireland all the more because the change was so sudden. _

_It seemed as though Scotland's curiosity got the better of him when his Father left their house late one night. Scotland looked towards Ireland and England saw that he was fast asleep underneath his furs. Scotland left the boy and went to follow his Father, always being guided by the bond he shared with him whilst cleverly suppressing his own energy completely so that his presence would remain undetected. England knew that the Scot was worried but he couldn't believe that he had left the safety of his hut in the dark of night without so much as a dagger on him and that he had willingly left Ireland all alone. Yet, the young Scot was evidently comfortable in the Forests he grew up in. _

_He soon reached a small clearing by a lake and was surprised to see his father sitting under a tree. He was seemingly waiting for something, his eyes restless. Scotland his behind a hulking mass of dead wood that had collapsed some months before. He watched his Father waiting for some time and he was very close to calling it quits until he felt a sweet but apprehensive energy and saw his Father get up immediately and straighten up._

_From the dense forest came a woman. England felt Scotland furrow his brows in confusion; he clearly wasn't expecting his Father Nation to be meeting a woman. He watched the way his Father's eyes lit up with an almost agonising joy and even in the dark of night he saw that his Father was nervous. _

_Scotland could see that the woman was beautiful even at his young age; her corn-coloured hair shone almost as white as her luminescent skin in the moonlight and fell in gentle waves to her hips, her form was graceful and lithe beneath her smock and her face exquisite with its loveliness. If his Father was a bear, then the stranger was a doe; all grace and beauty but laced with strength. The young woman spoke, her voice like bells although he couldn't really hear what she was saying. Papa Celt held out a hand to the woman in a silent request that she was free to refuse although his eyes remained so hopeful and so full of tenderness that it was almost too much to bear. _

_England on the other hand was close to tears as a young Scotland stared in wonderment. That was Britannia; that was his Mother and seeing her again through another's eyes was agonising for him. Even after so many centuries, he still loved her so dearly. Seeing her again, even if it was just a memory, caused a great ache in his heart. _

_Britannia hesitated for a long while and Celt seemed to give up hope. He turned to leave but that startled the woman into action. With tears in her eyes she cried out to Celt and, when he turned around, she ran straight into his arms; her petite stature all the more apparent within the arms of the Great Bear. Scotland seemed to understand that this was a private moment and returned home.'_

England remained immobile as Scotland took him through some more memories of a family life with Britannia; from their first introduction to humorous memories of the woman out-shooting and defeating both the young Celtic boys and even giving Papa Celt a run for his money. England, although slightly jealous at the family scenes, was moved by what he saw and found himself feeling happy that his Mother was loved by a man who blatantly adored her; even if he was quiet and rather stiff and self-conscious.

'_England had to steel himself as the flow of memories slowed down until it reached a dreary scene. The sky was engulfed by grey, the trees were bare of leaves and the atmosphere was thick and heavy. And there in the centre of it all was a dying Celt held tenderly in the arms of his eldest son whilst his youngest was clinging on to his tunic, clearly distraught as tears poured down his face. Poor Ireland, he clearly did not understand what was happening but he knew it was something terrible. The Celt spoke roughly._

_"Do not cry for this my boy...You will not see me but-"  
><em>

_The Great Bear softly laid a hand over Ireland's heart._

_"I will be...right here...Always..."_

_Ireland continued to sob but he was quieter. Celt looked up to Scotland and England saw only raw love and grief in the man's eyes._

_"You are...the Head of this Family...now...Protect and love..this Family...as much as I have loved...all three of you..."_

_Scotland remained unresponsive but England could feel tears welling up in his eyes. There was now so much responsibility on his small shoulders.  
><em>

_"It's too soon, Father...Please, don't go..."_

_Celt smiled sadly as he cupped the boy's cheek in a rare show of affection._

_"__I believe in you, Son...Remember, I will not...really be gone...I will...watch over and guide you...I love you..."  
><em>

_Celt lowered his hand and turned to look at a grieving Britannia who was hugging both boys. Good God, England hated seeing her so upset. _

_"Silly woman...shedding tears for me and not yourself..."_

_Britannia knew he meant that she should grieve for her own loneliness and not for Celt's passing. The woman shook her head and smirked sadly._

_"M__y heart will be broken but __I will not be alone..."_

_The poignant look in Celt's eyes would haunt England forever. It was a look of a man who though accepting that his time had come, really did not want to go. He did not want to leave his sons or his lady whom he loved more than his own life. _

_With one last kiss from Britannia and hugs for his boys, Celt closed his eyes one final time as his body seemed to fade into a dust that was carried away by the wind. England felt Scotland's heart break as his arms were suddenly empty of the Father he loved. There was nothing left to show that he had even existed._

_Later that day, Scotland was still managing to keep his emotions in check as Britannia finally put Ireland to sleep. Quite suddenly however, Scotland stormed outside to sit by the lake. He sat there for a while, just staring out at the water, until he was disturbed by someone sitting next to him. It was Britannia, her face sympathetic but her eyes were glassy with fresh grief. She spoke quietly._

"_It is weakness to cry in front of one's enemies, but not in front of one's family..."_

_Scotland turned to look at Britannia with bitterness; bitterness that England would have skinned him for if his could._

"_I only have one family member now, and he is inside sleeping..."_

_If Britannia was hurt by the words, she did not show it. Her face remained understanding as she wrapped and arm around the boy. Her tone was firm and honest but gentle._

"_Well if you truly believe that Family only means blood then you are a fool; and I know that your Father did not raise fools. Until the day I join your Father and even beyond that, you and your brother will always have me...You are my beloved sons..."_

_It took a while but soon Scotland began to sob quietly; he was only a boy and the day was catching up with him. Not long after, the very fact that he would never see his Father again seemed to hit him like a herd of stampeding cattle and he began to weep in earnest. Britannia cried silently as the boy wept in her arms until he fell asleep. Britannia carried the boy to the bed he shared with Ireland. As the woman moved to sleep in the bed herself and Celt shared, heart heavy by the fact that she would be sleeping alone, she shed a few tears of joy as Scotland's timid voice called out._

"_Goodnight, Mother..."'_

England gritted his teeth as the fog of memories seemed to be sucked from his consciousness, leaving him in full control of himself once again. The mercury glaze slowly cleared from his eyes as Scotland removed his fingers and his blue energy faded away. It took a while for England to orientate himself to the present but he quickly turned around to make sure Scotland was alright. He wasn't really expecting to see the man with his eyes closed with silent tears running down his face. His brows were drawn together in anguish. England could feel guilt and pity surge through him. He moved to embrace the Scot, his hand running through the man's hair soothingly. Scotland spoke, his voice hoarse with grief.

"They say that time heals all wounds, but Ah donnae believe in that anymore..."

England looked pensive for a moment but then spoke quietly and sadly.

"It dulls the pain somewhat, but it doesn't ever erase it completely...I am so sorry that I brought the memories to surface...Your Father was a good man..."

Scotland choked out a sob but managed to collect himself, his tears stopping soon enough.

"It's alright; it is unwise tae forget...He was th' best...There's never bin ah man as guid as he was..."

England chuckled quietly and Scotland looked at him with surprise and mild hurt. England smiled and kissed the man chastely as he wiped any lingering tears away.

"If Celt is your standard of a good man, then you and Ireland have certainly reached-if not surpassed- that standard...You do him proud..."

England knew he had said the right thing when the elder man's mouth tilted upwards into a smile, his eyes creasing with joy and his cheeks flushing with pride.

"Yoour exactly like yer Ma; ye always ken th' reit thing tae say..."

It was England's turn to flush, his heart warmed by the man's words.

"Thank you for sharing your memories with me...You must have known that the memories upset you and still you shared them..."

Scotland simply smiled and rested his forehead against England. The blonde knew exactly what the man wanted to say without the need for words; he was happy to share his thoughts with the one he loved.

Both of them soon felt exhaustion from the day's events and they both moved to go to Scotland's room to sleep. Scotland took his side of the bed by the window and made sure that England's back was flush against his chest, their legs were entwined and his arms were around the smaller man's waist. England sighed in bliss as sleep took over and he was comforted by Scotland's warm breath against his neck. He silently prayed that he would never have to go through what his mother did; he did not know what he would do if Scotland were to die like his Father all those centuries ago. He did not know if he could live with that sort of grief.

During the night however, England awoke because he felt as though he and his spouse were not alone. The moon shone through the room's large window and it wasn't long before England noticed a man sitting quietly on the arm chair at the far corner of the room. Panic surged within England and he was about to wake Scotland up until he saw the stranger lift a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence. England raised himself slightly to look at the man better, being careful not to wake up his sleeping Scot, especially after such an emotional day. The man walked towards him and into the moonlight and England's eyes widened.

Wild, thick red hair to his shoulder blades, thickly muscled body, bright emerald eyes and stern but kindly features; it was Papa Celt. England had heard stories about how Rome and Germania visited their families but this was new for the Britannic family. The man spoke quietly in an ancient Celtic language, his voice very much like quiet thunder.

"You are the spitting image of your Mother..."

England blushed slightly under the phantom's scrutiny but he spoke confidently in the same language.

"And your sons are the spitting image of you..."

The man was quiet but England suddenly felt incredibly bold.

"I'm glad that you're their Father and that it was you that loved my Mother...They couldn't have been loved by a better man..."

The Celt seemed surprised but then he responded.

"That may be so but they couldn't have found a more loving Family...Thank you for loving them..."

England flushed suddenly feeling less bold.

"There is nothing to thank me for; loving your sons comes as naturally as breathing...I..."

England looked away from the man briefly but then turned back with determination.

"I have made mistakes- terrible mistakes- in the past but I have always loved them and I always will...I_ promise_ you that they will always be loved when they are here with the Family..."

The Ancient was silent for a long while; simply staring at Scotland's sleeping form and the way he held on tightly to England. He then turned to the blonde with a ghost of a smile. He placed a gentle but heavy hand on England's head, ruffling his hair some.

"I believe you...Patrick and your sister Eleanor are visiting in a few days, am I correct? As well as all my grandchildren..."

England nodded, the heavy hand on his head limiting his movement somewhat.

"Yes...Ela, Patrick, Alas' children, Seamus and some of my own children will be there..."

Celt's smile became more pronounced.

"Your Mother and I will visit then...So we can all be together if only for a day...Do not tell anyone though..."

England's face was disbelieving; both he and Cariad would see their mother and his children would know their grandmother. England's eyes creased with emotion.

"Tell Mother how much we still love her...Tell her how desperately we want to see her..."

The Celt smiled wider, the expression surprisingly natural on such a gruff looking man.

"She loves you all as well and, despite our happiness at being together, we miss you...We are both so proud of all of you..."

England smiled genuinely.

"Thank you and thank you for coming here tonight..."

The Celt merely nodded as he ruffled England's hair one last time. With a final, tender glance at his sleeping son, he faded into nothingness. England found he missed the weight upon his head. He went to bed once more, snuggling even more into his husband's embrace, suddenly incredibly eager for time to pass.

When Scotland questioned England about a strange but comforting feeling he had had during the night, England smiled knowingly but kept his promise to Ancient Celt, much to Scotland's confusion.

"Don't worry my love; the Bear kept watch is all..."


	17. My Heart Beats Still

**I AM SO, SO SORRY I HAVE BEEN AWAY FOR SO LONG! D: I am now a university student so my life's a bit more hectic than normal. It's all the more hectic when I'm studying in Scotland but my home is London **-_- **I hope you can forgive me and I'll try to update as soon as I can after this! **

**This little chapter is about France and his relationship with England and it is dedicated to NanaCaroll for her unwavering. It takes place during the aftermath of the Paris June rebellion of 1832, the very same uprising that Victor Hugo wrote about in Les Miserables.**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters except my OCs and the plot are mine. Also the line at the end of this chapter is not mine either!**

* * *

><p>England found him slumped in a grand armchair in the evening, a warm fire roaring throughout his home. The fiery sunset was slowly fading into something softer and cooler; something that was far more mysterious than the hope of the dawn, the brilliance of the day and the fierceness of the sunset. He couldn't say that he wasn't looking forward to the soft darkness of the night. The day was far too unmerciful on the bedraggled blonde in the chair.<p>

As England approached the man quietly, he could hear him singing quietly; tender, nonsensical French lullabies from times of old. He wasn't even sure if the man remembered the lyrics all that well. England stopped and raised a large eyebrow when a broken voice called to him.

"I am surprised that the guards let you in…"

England answered offhandedly.

"This silver tongue of mine is a very useful tool…And my voice and words are not something that a human can typically resist…"

He saw France smile disdainfully and the elder's laugh was more like a scornful bark.

"Hah! We all know _that_ already!"

The elder's eyes were cold and hard and his mouth upturned in a disdainful smirk.

"Are you here to laugh at _me_, mon ami? To sing triumphant boasts about how my people have once again proven themselves unruly? Do you come to taunt me with that silver tongue in my home that has now become my prison?"

England managed a wry smile at France and he shook his head gently. He spoke sincerely.

"No, my friend, not this time."

France heard the sincerity in the young man's voice and, after a while, he visibly relaxed. He languidly gestured for England to sit before him on the windowsill. To join him in watching the sun engulf the Parisian countryside in its fiery glory. To acknowledge that France himself was certainly feeling nowhere near as glorious. England laid back on the window frame, raising his legs upon it and resting his arms upon his bent knees.

He carefully looked at France and fought back a grimace. The blonde's hair was matted, his clothes dirty and stained with blood from unhealed wounds and his skin pale. His stormy blue eyes were glazed over but burnt with frozen fire; there was a lust for vengeance to be found in those tired, miserable eyes.

"I know I look horrendous but you do not need to make a point of staring at me…"

England had the decency to blush but did not move his gaze.

"I stare not because you look horrendous, even though you do..."

France managed a small scoff of humour and, for a moment, mirth glittered in his eyes. England continued.

"I am staring so that I can decide how much effort it's going to take to bathe you and clean you up, you stupid twit…"

France looked at him then, humour rampant in his eyes. If there was one thing he could count on England for, it would be his ability to set him at ease with their usual teasing. The relationship between him and England was testy at best but, when it came down to it, the Brit always offered his friendship and his love in one way or another. The irritating Englishman really did have a special little place in his very big heart.

"You shameless pervert wanting to strip me…And you English think us French to be sexual deviants…"

The younger blonde rolled his eyes dramatically and grinned boyishly. It was France's turn to blush, enchanted by that boyish grin. England winked.

"You would like that, would you not? Then again I learnt from the best…"

France managed a smug smile.

"I am glad that I left such an impression on you, _mon lapin_…" _(...my rabbit...)_

England's grin turned into a teasing smirk.

"Who says I was speaking about you?

France couldn't help but laugh because he knew as well as England did that the younger _was_ speaking about him. England sighed with relief because at least France was still capable of laughing. He was relieved that the Nation wasn't completely ruined by the Paris Uprising of June 1832 unlike when the revolution of 1789 and its aftermath took place. He was suffering but he didn't seem broken just yet but that was perhaps because the event was still far too fresh. To be broken was something he had always hoped France would never have to go through but it did happen every now and again. He could swear that he had almost lost him that time…

A rather comfortable silence settled between the pair. The sun gradually set lower and lower and the sky slowly became an inky blue. England tried not to notice how France became more miserable after their brief banter but it was impossible. It was the same misery that had engulfed him before when he had broken and England cast a wary eye on the elder.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

France looked up at England and was surprised by the tenderness in his gaze. God knows it had been a little while since the boy had looked at him like that and he _missed_ it. He found that he both pitied and respected Scotland and Ireland more than he already did, for if this was the anguish they felt when they looked upon a tender England then it was an anguish that was _insufferable_.

France closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look upon England but he found that this brought no belief. He could still hear the screams that echoed through Paris and he could see the blood of the people staining its streets as vividly as when it happened right in front of him. He could feel the thunder of canon as it struck the rebel's barricades. His voice, although hoarse from emotion, held an air of finality.

"_Non._"

England nodded and accepted the man's wishes easily. He wasn't one to pry and he certainly knew what France was feeling anyway. Uprisings and deaths were never pleasant and so he would respect France's wish to grieve through his own means.

"Well that's alright. I'll go and prepare you a hot bath…"

As England got up to go to France's bathroom, he was stopped abruptly by France snatching his wrist. When he looked down, he saw that France's mouth was set in a sombre line but his eyes were burning with an icy intensity. He felt a shiver go up his spine; it was a marvel how eyes the colour of an icy sea could burn.

"Why are you doing this for me? For what purpose are you here?"

England couldn't really blame France for questioning his motives and his wish to help the elder Nation; not with their turbulent history. If France was suffering, he would sometimes help but, more often than not, it was someone like Scotland that went to France's emotional aid, not England. Yet, England couldn't help but wish for everyone he cared about to stop questioning his motives in times such as these. If he helped a loved one there was never any selfish intention but somehow this piece of information escaped everybody. It was something that had always grated on his nerves but his nerves were now starting to wear dangerously thin. Even on the best of days he could feel his temper simmering beneath the surface of his cool façade. England answered evenly but with hard eyes.

"Is there a reason, besides the obvious, as to why I should not be here to help you? Because I do not _need _to help you, so I can go _now_ if that is what you would prefer…"

England managed to catch the flash of fear that shot through France's eyes and he definitely didn't miss the way France's grip on him became stronger. England wasn't the only one who could be abnormally devastated by loneliness and loss it seemed.

"Non but…"

England fought the urge to roll his eyes as he interrupted France. His tone was exasperated but France could hear that he had deeply hurt the younger's feelings.

"Then for God's sake _why_ do you seek conflict with me about my intentions, Francis? I do these things because I want to. If I want to help you, then that is what I want to do…_Nothing more and nothing less_…"

France opened his mouth as if to speak but soon closed it once more. When he managed to collect his thoughts enough to speak again, France's voice was softer and his eyes anxious.

"You owe me _nothing_, Arthur…_Nothing at all_…"

England's eyes widened. He was sure that France's concerns about his…_upbringing_ had been settled. The younger knew that France often thought that only the reason he ever helped him was because he felt that he still _owed_ France something for personal care that France had given England in his youth. It was very, _very_ well-known that England absolutely _despised_ being in anyone's debt. But the wish to do right by France the way that France had done right by him was something that England wouldn't deny the elder because he _cared_ about him. He could admit that he was often sour about helping him because of pride and there were many situations where he just _couldn't_ help but France had been _good_ to him in the past. In a cold, unknown and lonely world under Rome, Francis Bonnefoy was his own light at the end of the tunnel. He was warm and loving and everything that Arthur Kirkland needed then. What kind of person would he be if he denied France that same care when he so desperately needed it? When England helped France, not as the Kingdom of England but as Arthur Kirkland, he did it simply because he cared so much about the elder that it physically _hurt_. Because he wanted to give him the gifts of love and companionship that he had once been given long before their history tore them apart. Even if the centuries of care France had personally invested in him could _never_ be adequately repaid, he would still _try_. If that damned affection he felt was because of France's affection for him, then he didn't think there was anything wrong with that at all. England swallowed a lump in his throat and laid his free hand over the hand gripping his wrist.

"Whatever you say, Francis… Are you done being stubborn or am I going to have to knock you out so I can get things done?"

France stared at England in bemusement but then chuckled. His grip on the other's arms slackened slightly.

"You're still as charming as ever I see, _Rosbif_…" _(...roast beef...)_

England rolled his eyes and shook the elder man grip off him.

"I'd be far more charming if you would stop saying unnecessary things, stupid Frog…"

With that, England collected water to boil for a bath. This was all done in a comfortable silence, France watching England working from the corner of his eye. From the living area, France could smell the gentle fragrance of lavender and camomile drifting from the bathroom and he immediately felt more relaxed. He supposed that a bath would do him a lot of good.

When England collected France for his bath, the elder was insistent about walking without aid. England ignored his insistence and made the Frenchman lean against him whilst they walked slowly. He wasn't going to take the chance of France falling, not with how difficult it was for the elder to even stand up in the first place. He knew he made the right decision because France's steps were heavy and pained; every step was an immense struggle.

The bath itself was also a rather peaceful affair. England quietly cleaned the grime and the blood from France's body, taking care with some wounds that had still not fully healed. He made a note to self to place a rag soaked with cool water upon the man's feverish brow when he set him to bed; his skin was far too hot to the touch for his liking. It was rather hard to comb the elder's matted hair without hurting him but England somehow managed; his hands were gentle and kind. England couldn't help but think that he had spent a large part of his long life bathing people. He supposed he didn't mind; if his loved ones were soothed by the warmth of water and the gentleness of his hands then he would continue. Funny that. It was funny how his hands were coarse from fighting and stained with blood and sin and yet were still capable of tenderness. He supposed this sort of thing was therapeutic for him as well; it reminded him that he was not doomed. As England finished rinsing the man's hair, France spoke quietly. His breaths were laboured with his pain but he spoke regardless.

"You used to love baths when you were…small and even then it was…as clear as day how much you adored the sea. It was perhaps…one of the only things that you liked about being with Rome…"

England huffed softly.

"There were a few things that I liked about Rome, just not the Nation itself…Although, in the end, I suppose he became easier to be around…"

France chuckled.

"Oh, I know that…The fights you two would have…I suppose he thought that you would be easily tamed because you were so young…"

England shrugged but there was a sly smile on his face.

"Never…I may behave in particular ways but my heart remains untamed…"

France snickered.

"I think Wales and your children would disagree…You may be a Lion, _cher_, but with them you are little more than a kitten…"

England flushed slightly but responded stiffly.

"A lion need not bear his teeth at all those around him…Only when certain Frogs make shrewd quips…"

France considered this and hummed in agreement before falling silent. The soothing feeling of England's fingers running through his soaking hair seemed to loosen his tongue after a short while.

"I can hear them still…Their passion and their song…I am not quite sure what to think about them…The majority had good intentions; they wanted genuine change. They wanted liberty that they had for a very long time wanted for me…For them…The very same they had once given their lives to achieve…But how could they have ever thought that their uprising of three thousand men would stand against an army of thirty thousand?"

England's hands stalled on France's scalp but he quickly resumed his gentle massage.

"You love them because they are your children but their actions are their own…You may agree or disagree but what's done is done…"

France bowed his head and whispered. England couldn't remember the last time that France sounded so ashamed.

"I do not want another King who will only cause my children misery…I've had enough, mon Angleterre…If they will only cause them pain, I harbour no love for my Kings…"

England supposed that France was right to feel anxious about his words. In their Old World, all their loyalty was supposed to be devoted to their monarch and to fail in that could cause problems. There had been more than enough wars fought in the last fifty years alone to show for that. France kept rambling on with mounting anxiety, worried that England's silence was a sign of his antipathy.

"There would, of course, be no problem if the monarch was a sincere, knowledgeable person. If he or she had the strength to overcome the circumstances that have plagued us for years then I would welcome them with open arms but-"

France was abruptly cut off by England hand upon his chin tilting his head around for a gentle kiss. When they parted, France saw that England didn't look disdainful as he thought he would. The younger's eyebrow was raised and his expression matured him beyond his physical twenty years, but his eyes were so soft and tender. France was once again enchanted by the beauty that the Kirkland Nations seemed to have in bucket loads but, more than that, he was simply enchanted by England himself. He was enchanted by how commanding yet empathetic he had grown up to be.

"I do not care in the slightest about your aversion to monarchs. As much as I respect my own, I have had enough incompetent Kings and Queens to know what you're feeling…There is a _reason_ why I am practically at war all the time in some form or another. Now, stop your incessant rambling and turn around so I can finish washing your ridiculous hair…"

France nodded dumbly and did as he was told, far too exhausted to do much else at this stage. He was soon alert when he felt England's lips brush the nape of his neck.

"And stop looking at me with that dim-witted expression… It's distracting and you are far too old to be blushing like an adolescent girl no matter how attractive I am…"

France blushed and he could feel a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue but he refrained. No good would come out of reinforcing England's petulance. Furthermore, there was no point trying to deny that he was, for a moment, utterly smitten with the blonde _and_ happy that the younger found him distracting. He could lie as well as the next person, but not about beauty. It was hard to remain silent however, when he could _feel_ England's smirk against his skin.

He was glad when England put a bit of distance between the two. When the silence blanketed the both of them once more, France sighed softly in relief. England's hands remained gentle and soothing and for that France was glad.

He could feel his eyes drift closed and he seemed to realise just how tired he was because he found himself hoping that there was even a small possibility of not waking up again. The years were heavy on his fragile shoulder and it was getting too hard to support the weight. He was sure that even Atlas could not bear the weight of the world on his shoulders forever and he was _tired_. Tired from his Revolution in 1789, tired from the Terror, tired from decades upon decades of war and tired of fighting for a life that seemed so far from his reach. It was a weariness that seeped deep into the bones and if he wasn't so exhausted he would have wept. England spoke up quietly with concern when Francis became ever more lax in his hold.

"Just hold on for a little while, Francis…Just hold on and…Francis?"

When he didn't respond, Francis could feel England move in front of him to cradle his face in his tender hands.

"Francis…Il suffit de rester eveille pour moi…Oui? Pour moi, Francis?" _(Just stay awake for me...Yes? For me)_

France's eyes were so, so heavy. The weight of his struggles suddenly becoming far too much to bear. Yet, his eyes tried to flutter open when England spoke. He could remember the Briton when he was so much smaller saying those words once a very long time ago…

'_He could distinctly remember being beaten to within an inch of his life by the Roman Empire. He could taste the dust and blood in his mouth, the scorching heat of the sun upon his back and the weary pain that seeped deep into his bones. But, for the life of him, he couldn't remember just what he was beaten for. Perhaps something to do with his own snarky attitude towards Rome. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong day to antagonise the elder. _

_There was something else that was nagging at his consciousness. There was something that wasn't immediately present in his mind but that he knew __**should**__ be. There was something or someone that was trying desperately to seize his mind's attention but his pain and his weariness seemed to grasp at his consciousness. _

"_GALLIA! GALLIA!"_

_There it was. That distressed voice trying to cut through the fog of pain that blanketed him. He somehow knew that he had to respond. That the voice belonged to someone important._

"_My goodness! Help me bring him inside, Hispania!"_

_Ah, what a sweet voice. He recognised that voice as a servants voice…Celtic Britannia, Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt were dying- or were they dead?- and would be somewhere else resting and his own mother was gone…Hispania? His friend. His sun kissed, cheerful friend who was as vibrant as the sun itself. The pain was dulling in the face of kindness surrounding him. A sharp grunt made him feel cold._

"_No! He shall not receive any help! He shall learn, one way or another, that my authority over him is absolute! He will either stay on the floor or he will drag himself to his quarters but he shall remain unaided!"_

_The air seemed frosty against his skin and yet the sun continued to burn. He could hear the cold voice call the others to him and he heard their footsteps shuffle steadily away. They left but not all…_

"_Hispania! Albion! Please, you must not!"_

_A smile curved at his lips. Leave it to Hispania and his Albion to play rebel and to- _

_Wait._

_His mind burned with an image of a blonde haired little brat. A brat who always scowled but had the most loving of hearts. Prideful to a fault but glorious with his pride. With grass green eyes hidden by eyebrows of a most monstrous size. Still, it was adorable. He was adorable. And when he smiled it seemed as though the world couldn't get any kinder. _

_**Albion.**_

_Small hands cupped his face and his eyes fluttered open at that gentle touch. A touch that would still keep its tenderness centuries later. The sun blinded him for a moment until dishevelled hair blocked it mercifully. He was confronted by those beloved green eyes, wide with fright and teary with distress. His voice was piercing with his panic._

"_Gallia! Please, don't leave me here! Don't leave! Stay awake for me! __**For me!**__"_

_He raised a tired, shaky hand and reached out to the sobbing child. His hand cradled the back of the boy's head and pushed it downwards to his chest. Relief flooded through him; he was beaten but the boy was fine. He was fine and in need of him. He would not fail the brat he'd sworn to protect._

"_There, there, child. Go with Hispania and follow Rome. My heart beats still…"_

_It took a long moment for the boy's tears to stop but he soon calmed down. Albion gently kissed Gallia's cheek (something he would vehemently refuse to acknowledge later) and raised himself up. The last thing that Gallia's eyes saw before they drifted close was Albion's eyes aglow of relief. The boy willingly took Hispania's hand (something that he would never do again after the fall of Rome) and departed quietly.'_

France felt those same hands from his memory upon his face. Caressing his check, running through his locks but quickly. Far too quickly too be soothing despite their kindness. When his eyes fluttered open, England's green eyes were sharp with anguish but still the same eyes that looked upon him all those centuries ago.

"Francis? Francis?! Stay awake, _stay awake!_"

Francis smiled tiredly. The last thing that France saw before he allowed himself to slip into sleep was the fierce flash of recognition in England's eyes at the words he spoke softly.

"For you? Oui, I'll try…for my heart beats still…"

* * *

><p>When France awoke, he found himself in his bed. He was dressed in his night clothes and a chilled rag was upon his head. The coolness of the rag was tremendously pleasant against his flushed skin. He turned his gaze towards one of his chamber's windows and saw that it was pitch black outside. A small fire was burning quietly in the corner, it vibrancy highlighting England's form in a grand arm chair.<p>

France smiled tiredly but fondly. The grand arm chair had been dragged all the way to his bed and the youth had fallen asleep in it. England's legs were crossed and his arms rested comfortably on his lap. His posture alerted France to the fact that England was only napping; he was remaining ever vigilant of his needs and Francis was touched by this. The young man's cravat had, to Francis' shock, been removed and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His waistcoat had been undone too and France began to wonder just how long he had been passed out for. He wanted to wake England but he was hesitant to disturb that peaceful looking face. Asleep in his chair, England didn't look like a centuries old Nation burdened since his birth. No, he looked serene and beautiful. Even with those monstrous eyebrows. England suddenly spoke, using France's earlier words against the elder.

"I know I look dishevelled and asleep but you do not need to make a point of staring at me…"

France's eyes widened at England's sudden speech and he noticed that the boy had opened one piecing eye to behold him. Both eyes opened soon enough, confirming France's suspicions that the younger was only napping.

"I didn't want to wake you, Cher…You looked to be sleeping soundly…"

England rolled his eyes without malice, a small but no less amused smile playing on his lips.

"You know me far better than that, friend…"

France grinned.

"Oui, I do. But I do wish that you _were_ asleep. No need to watch over me like that, you've already done so much for me today…"

England simply stared at France for a long while. His eyes were snake-like in their intensity and France realised that England was taking a moment to judge something. To judge _him_. Although he was more than used to England's peculiarities by now, that piecing stare wasn't something that _anyone_ simply 'got used to'. From the very moment of his birth, that stare distinguished men from boys.

France held that stare for as long as possible but then briefly ducked his head to shake it with a bemused chuckle. When he lifted his head once more, England remained unmoved.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

England's chin tilted upwards slightly at the question and then he cocked his head to the side. England raised his arm to rest his elbow on the chair's arm rest and then he rested his head on his raised palm. The posture was couple by an amused smirk.

"When will you just accept that sometimes I want to look after you as well as you have done me and not because I have some hidden agenda, hm? Tell me, what's so wrong with that?"

France wanted to respond to that right away. He already knew what he would have said. He would have told England that there was no need. That he did not owe him a thing and that he was able to look after himself. But he said none of those things. The look in England's eyes stopped the words from forming upon his lips. Those eyes dared him to speak without thinking first but France knew well enough to never call England's bluff on such matters. The look in England's eyes said it all. _He_ was the problem at the moment, not England.

'_There really is nothing wrong or insincere with what he is doing…' _

By denying England's kindness so incessantly he was pushing the younger away. But wasn't that what England had wanted anyway? The Englishman's hatred of him was not unfounded; his hatred had been borne from his people's resentment towards French rule and war. Yet, England's eyes spoke more truly and more sincerely than words ever could. For all the hate that England harboured towards France in his heart, there was a great deal more love to be found there as well.

And he was throwing that love right back in England's face because his pride couldn't bear it. Because he couldn't bear the thought of receiving love because he was simply owed it.

Perhaps that was where he was wrong. To England it was clear that this was something he did not resent owing. England smiled kindly when realisation finally dawned on France. England cared for him not because he _owed _it to France (since France had given help willingly and without any expectancy of repayment), but because he wanted to _share_ with France the joy and security that the elder had once given him. He didn't care about him because it was coerced; he cared about him because the affection was shared and not demanded.

England moved to sit next to France on the bed and, for once, allowed France to hold his hand. The light of the dimming fire highlighted the slight blush on England's cheeks. France supposed that it was the dimness of the room and the seriousness of the situation between them that allowed England to open up to him. France smiled slightly for such an open, affectionate England was incredibly odd.

"Listen well, Frog, for I will only say this once…"

France gave all his attention to England for he knew that the younger was serious. He was a man that spoke only necessary words and he did not like to repeat himself.

"You cared for me and still care for me without _ever_ expecting something in return. You have never once demanded affection from me…"

England turned his eyes to France and the elder was touched by the sincerity found there.

"You gave me so much joy when there was none to be found; you were the only person that gave me hope when it was scarce. For that brief period you were _all_ that I had and never once did you expect anything in return. Not only do I respect you for it, but I also love you for that. Why would I not want to share that with you?"

England raised France's hands to his lips and his voice was heavy with emotion.

"How can you think that whatever I feel for you is coerced? How can you think that I am here now because of debt? You must think little of me or I never made my feelings clear enough because it pains me more than you could ever know to see you like this. You don't _deserve_ this…"

France was rendered speechless. He never realised the extent to which England appreciated him. Granted it really wasn't shown very often but this was the first time in a very long time that England had been so resolutely outspoken with his feelings. He didn't really know how to take it because the relationship between the two of them was far from amicable at the best of times. Perhaps it was that sort of thinking that lead to him disregarding England's feelings in the first place however. The thought that hatred would always overshadow the bond they share. His thoughts were briefly interrupted by England's rough hand brushing his cheek gently.

"God saw it fit to send you to me when I needed kindness. Until my dying day I will thank Him for that and I will forever love you for your generosity and compassion. Now, go to sleep before I beat you and don't you dare speak of this to anyone…"

France peered up at England as the younger began to tuck them both into bed, completely indifferent to the empty threat.

"You still believe in a God then, mon cher?"

England nodded as he laid down fully, wrapping his arms around France snugly.

"I think I do, for I believe that I have seen his face…"

France's eyes widened at that and he raised his eyebrow with incredulity.

"How so?"

England smiled simply, his gaze knowing as he leaned over to press an intimate kiss against the elder's lips. France entwined his legs with England's and his grip on the younger tightened. He sighed when he felt a gentle hand caressing his face. When they parted they were both flushed but happy. England kept his hand against France's cheek.

England's reply touched France's heart, making him smile softly, eyes creasing slightly at the edges. The words reminded him of why his heart had swelled with such affection for the boy in front of him all those years ago beyond his loneliness and their similarities. He never regretted helping the blonde and he knew that he would always keep his close at heart.

**"_To love another person is to see the face of God…"_**


End file.
